


If it doesn't kill you

by PearlsValeMel, rutbisbe



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Aggression, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awesome Bulma Briefs, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gym AU, Gym Sex, Human, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Smut, bulma kicks asses, training to be stronger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-04-11 16:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsValeMel/pseuds/PearlsValeMel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutbisbe/pseuds/rutbisbe
Summary: Still hurt and wounded after an aggression, Bulma is determined in getting stronger and being able to fend for herself.She needs a trainer, but in the Saiyan Gym she will find something more.Inspired by the marvelous Rutbisbe





	1. Still alive

**Author's Note:**

> When the talented [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) came up with the idea of a Gym AU, this story started writing itself and I could merely type on my computer and let it flow. But then something even more extraordinary happened: teamwork, long-distance writing, friendship, call it as you like, but for me is Happiness. Writing and building this story over the months with Rut has been truly amazing, and I can't tell you how deeply moved and grateful I am for this chance.  
> But from our exchange of emails and ideas, another wonderful thing is born: [Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) is making a fan comic about this AU, and let me tell you, it's AMAZING. 
> 
> Also my deepest thanks to my beta reader [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L), a real writer superhero. 
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains graphic mentions of aggression against women, violence, and post-traumatic stress symptoms, like panic attacks.
> 
> Soundtrack: Still Alive - Lisa Miskowsky; Castle of glass - Linkin Park; What you want - Evanescence

 

 

_11 days after the attack_

 

 

The streets were empty, autumn climes chilling the air and forcing the rare bystander to burrow deep in their coat.

Bulma hurried her pace, her breaths already panted, as she shifted the bag on her shoulder to better distribute its heft. A strand of hair escaped her the edge of the hoodie. She swept it behind her ear, pulling the collar of her sweater to cover her face.

As she passed by the stores, she couldn’t help but listen to the jumbled words blaring from the televisions on display. 

“More than a week after the attack, the Bulma Briefs’ case…”

“-still searching for the man who had attacked the heiress of Capsule Corporation-”

“We’re now on with a member of the heiress's inner circle. Tell us, how did you find the poor girl? Was she distraught? Do you think she will recover or will the trauma haunt her?”

“She had always been the flirty type, you know what I mean…”

“Witnesses report that Briefs had been drinking before leaving the disco in Fifth Ave-”

“-drinking to forget the recent break up with the baseball champion-”

“What would you expect? A girl dressed that way? Have you seen how scandalous her dress was the night of the-”

Bulma didn’t realize she had been strangling the strap until her nail dug painfully into her palm. 

Words assaulted her, suffocating, giving no quarter until she found herself running until they faded in the distance.

Who was the girl all the paparazzi and journalist were talking about? Who was that poor little girl, sniffling and weeping in the darkness of her room?

She  _ despised _ that girl, couldn’t stand to see her bloodied and bruised face in the mirror every morning. 

She was Bulma Briefs. 

She was strong, brilliant… brave. 

A genius of her time. 

Still, even geniuses were judged by how many drinks they had on nights out, by how high the hem of a cocktail dress, the plunge of a neckline, the height of heeled shoes. 

The cut on her cheek burned when a traitorous tear escaped the iron cage of her eyelashes. Bulma scrubbed it away angrily, picking up her pace. 

She wasn’t a weak, helpless victim, nor a slut that deserved to be attacked in a filthy alley by someone passing themselves off as a pathetic excuse of the male sex. 

She was accustomed to the limelight, but having her romantic relationship, dress and drinking habits dissected and disparaged like that, like  _ she _ was the one standing in court before an arbiter and jury, instead of her attacker…

_ That _ made her want to scream, to rip someone’s heart out. With her bare hands.

But she hadn’t either the strength nor killing instinct to indulge that desire. Her total inability to fight back or block her assailant that night stood as painfully reminder of that. 

Which was precisely the reason why she now stood before the double door of the Saiyan Gym, a duffle bag slung over a shoulder and a determined look chiseled on her face. 

She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t weak. 

She was going to show them.

 

*

 

“...And here’s the women’s locker room. It’s small, but there’s a couple of showers and I make sure it's clean. We don’t have many women come around, not sure why…”

Bulma looked around and smiled at Goku. 

His little gym wasn’t exactly a female-friendly environment. 

The few pieces of body building and cardio equipment took up a corner of the main hall, while a ring and several punching bags monopolized the vast majority of the space. 

Not that it mattered. Had her goal been working out some or losing a few pounds, she would have gone with a different gym. No. Her goal was to become the kind of person noone would ever victimize again. 

Goku' s place was the ultimate venue to achieve that.

Her lifelong friend was one of the most skilled fighters in town. His innumerable medals and regional titles blanketed the walls of the modest gym he had managed to open a few years ago.

There was no one else she could entrust in her current fragile state to rebuild her and her shambled life after the ordeal.

“Bulma… Are you sure you’re ready to train?” he asked, after a moment of hesitation. 

“Maybe it's best if you fully recover first? It’s been just a couple of weeks, after all.”

In didn't pass her notice, Goku’s eyes trailing the bruises still covering her arm and neck, the healing cut on her scalp and the gauze covering half of her face. However, she refused to meet his gaze, fearing she would see in her friend’s eyes the same pity she'd seen in everyone's since that fateful night. 

“I’m fine Goku. If I sit another day in my room with nothing to do but relive that shit over and over, I will go insane and kill somebody.”

_ Or myself _ , a nasty part of her brain whispered, but she quickly silenced it with a shudder.

Anticipating her friend's reservations, Bulma bumped his shoulder playfully and stepped inside the locker room. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to change into my training gear. See you in a few,  _ coach _ .”

 

*

 

Unsurprisingly, she was the only woman at the gym. 

Correction: she was nearly the only customer at the gym, as well.

Middle of the week day wasn't exactly gym rush hour for typical working people and students. She had chosen that unorthodox training schedule exactly for that reason-- to be left alone.  

She wasn't entirely alone, however. A somewhat short but exquisitely muscled guy was busying himself by apparently trying to tear a hanging punching bag from its anchor with the sheer force of his kicks and punches. 

He ignored her, not even bothering with a glance when she started running on the treadmill, much to her relief. 

After a while though, Bulma realized the sweater she'd thrown on to keep Goku from initiating further commentary on her battered body wasn't the best workout attire. 

She was sweating like a pig under the heavy garment, and the hoodie covering her head was irritating the still tender scar that cut through her temple and scalp. 

At the hospital, it had been necessary to shave the right side of her head to stitch it, so she had settled on a new hairstyle. She now sported a side undercut that left a wavy strand to cover the other half of her head and face.

After a minute or two of internal debate, she jumped off the treadmill and looked around.

The other customer was still torturing his punching bag, his massive back to her. On the other side of a glass door, an old man was training Gohan, Goku’s child, in some kind of martial art, both of them focused on their lesson. 

In a swift, decisive motion, Bulma removed her sweatshirt and hoodie in one go, a sigh of relief escaping her lips and a shiver running along her hot, damp skin. She didn't let her eyes drop to the purple and bluish bruises that dotted her upper arms, teasing from the sleeves of her oversized t-shirt. 

The healing cut on her scalp and her bandaged arm still itched but she ignored them, the same way she hoped the other occupant of the gym would ignore her current state.

For a split moment, as she settled onto the leg press, she thought she felt the burn of eyes on her, but when she turned, the other man hadn’t moved. 

She felt a little ridiculous. What  _ if _ he saw her bruises and bandages? It wasn’t any of his business, nor should she give a damn what some random musclehead thought of it.

But that wasn’t the point, she knew, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it out loud. 

After the incident, she had grown more and more aware of her surroundings, especially if she was alone with a man in a small space. This constant state of alert bothered her and irritated her already frayed nerves, but she hoped it would lessen and dissolve with time.

Her legs shook as she pushed for the twentieth time the weighted plates, breaths coming out in frustrated huffs. 

She let out a groan as she straightened her legs and bent her knees for another rep, but something caught the press before it could make its way back. 

“Stop that or you’ll hurt yourself further!”

The other customer was standing beside her, his hand blocking the plates from moving. 

He was, as she had noted from afar, unimpressive heightwise, maybe a few inches taller than her, with a flame of black hair spiking skyward from his ample forehead, crowned by a deep widow's peak. His features were sharp, a deep scowl accentuating his severe demeanor, as his dark gaze sized her up. But what caught her eye was the way his muscles rippled at every movement, barely covered by the tank top and spandex pants he wore. 

For the first time in her life, instead of appreciating the view, Bulma looked away, intimidated by the display that underlined the already evident gap of strength between them. 

She stiffled her panicked brain as it started calculating whether Goku would hear, should she scream for help. 

Bulma felt her whole body tense but refused to let an intimidating little man make her squirm or stutter.

“Doing what?” she barked, pushing harder with her legs in order to free the machine.

“That!” he said, grabbing her knee. “If you straighten your knees with that jerk, the ligament will eventually snap, you moron!”

But Bulma wasn’t listening, her eyes glued to the place where their skin touched. 

When Krillin had tried to hug her, some days before, she had flinched and nearly smacked him, fear and disgust clutching her stomach. But the touch of this unknown man didn’t make her want to flee or gag.

It was bizarre, the simultaneous repulsion and craving to be touched that plagued her these days.  

She noticed just then his boxing handwraps were stained at the knuckles, with something she'd bet was blood.

Oblivious to her inner debate, the man moved her leg.

“Spread your feet and rotate the joints on the outside. Push until your legs are at 160 degrees, not completely straight. And you don’t need to press and let go so fast. The real work happens when you return to the initial position slowly, for God’s sake!”

She was too busy not throwing a fit to properly understand his instruction, but then the asshole snorted and glanced at her with a look full of disdain.

“That’s exactly why I don’t want unaccompanied amateurs in my gym.”

Bulma felt words of outrage bubble deep in her gut, ready to overflow from her mouth.

“Excuse me? Your gym? I thought this place was Goku’s!”

“Ha! That buffoon couldn’t run a business if it was handed to him wrapped up and ready to go! I should have imagined you would be one of his weak friends...”

Bulma let the press go with a loud clang and got up, survival instinct and all be damned. 

“Who are you calling weak, asshole?”

The man assessed her again, gaze lingering so long as to make her boil with outraged anger and self-consciousness. 

“You, given the state you’re in,” he said, his tone a little softer than before, but not enough to make a difference to Bulma.

She was ready to give him a piece of her mind when Goku emerged from his office, planting himself between them with one of his disarming smiles.

“Oh hey, Bulma! I see you’ve already met Vegeta, my business partner.”

She stuttered, suddenly at a loss of words.

“Your… partner?”

“Yeah, we met each other in a couple of MMA tournaments. Vegeta is a great fighter, he nearly beat me twice!” 

Goku's voice was bubbling with excitement. “He was a silent partner from the start, working the legal and accounting end of things in his spare time between fights. After last season, I asked him to help with operations fulltime, so we could spar together more often so… here we are.”

Here they were, indeed, with said fighter fuming at their side with a murderous look on his face.

“Enough with your chit-chat, Kakarott! Instruct your stupid friend in the proper use of the equipment so she doesn't hurt herself any further. The last thing we need is bad advertising or someone suing us for damages…”

With those last harsh words, Vegeta stormed away, returning to vent his frustrations on the poor punching bag.

Bulma shook her head, too baffled to be angry anymore. 

“How can you put up with...with…  _ him _ every day?” she asked Goku.

He grinned and scratched sheepishly his nape.

“Vegeta’s not that bad, once you know him better. He’s just very passionate about this gym. I really couldn’t handle all the business stuff if it wasn’t for him.”

That, Bulma reasoned, was actually a very good point.

She loved Goku with all her heart, but he wasn’t exactly the brightest one in their gang. 

The first year since the opening, she had been impressed by his success in getting the gym up and running. Now things made a little more sense.

“Whatever. But I hope you’ll be the one training me from now on…” she mumbled.

Goku flashed her one of his trademark smiles, all sunshine, and innocence, but didn’t answer. Instead, he nudged her towards another machine. 

“Let’s start with some warming up. We have to get you ready for the real work…”

 

*

 

Nearly three days of training later, she was sore.

Never an athlete, and still recovering from most of her injuries, Bulma had expected the first days at the gym to be trugh on her still achy body.

She lifted her arms to undress and prepare for another training session and winced. 

Everything hurt but in a good way. It wasn’t the aching pain of waking up in a hospital bed, tubes hanging from every limb and a pint of blood volume missing from your body. 

As she left the locker room, Bulma scanned the main hall in search of Goku, but he was attending another boy, showing him the correct way to hit a punching bag. 

His business partner, Vegeta, was nowhere to be seen, much to her relief. 

As soon as Goku spotted her, he excused himself with his young customer and was swiftly by her side. 

The last three days, he had been an attentive and dedicated coach, designing a training regiment for her based on her current skill level, and keeping close track of her every move and exercise. 

She was eager to move on to the more interesting stuff, impatient to improve her fighting skills and actually learn something useful. But, at the same time, she understood her body was not fit enough, and she had to work on her strength and flexibility first in order to be ready for more complex movements.

“Hey, Bulma,” Goku greeted her, leading her to a high bar. “If you feel like it, today I’d like you to try some pull-ups.”

She let him show her the proper hand position and how to use her still inexistent muscles to lift her body weight. However, after that, he had to return to his previous customer. 

“I’ll be right back. You can start with two or three series of 5 reps, ok?”

Bulma watched the bar with defiance, and jumped, hands grabbing the metal. 

She swung back and forth for a moment in order to test her grip.

Her still bandaged wrist pulled and burned in protest. She ignored it, the mild pain not nearly enough to make her give up so soon.

She tried to lift her body once, arms trembling with the effort. The second and third pulls made her almost smile with triumph. 

After four reps, her fingers slipped, losing their grip on the bar. 

She fell on her feet on the mat, but something - a hand cupping her elbow - stabilized her precarious balance. 

The moment her head snapped towards him, Vegeta’s hand retreated. 

She wasn’t sure when he had appeared beside her, but her reaction was instantaneous, her whole body tense for flight.

He handed her a towel to wipe her sweaty hands, sparing her a serious and mildly annoyed look.

“Try again. Make it 10 reps for a start.”

“But Goku said…”

His tone was final when he answered. “You can handle it.”

Bulma jumped and grabbed the bar, testing the grip of her fingers on the shiny metal, and pulled.

The first three reps were somehow easy, boosting her ego a little. At the fifth one, the telltale aching of her shoulders and upper arms made her pause for a fraction. 

She could feel Vegeta's eyes, burning a hole through her with their intensity.

She pulled with her arms again. 

Six.

The breath she was holding escaped from her lips with a strangled snort, and Vegeta’s reprimand quickly followed.

“Breathe.”

She did. Inhale and exhale. In and out, up and down.

Seven pull-ups, eight. 

A drop of sweat slid down her spine. Her muscles burned. 

Nine. 

Her arms refused to work and Buma hung there, panting. She had reached her limit. 

“I… I can't-” she wheezed.

Vegeta searched her eyes before murmuring with that same unwavering, deep baritone,

“You can.”

Bulma swallowed, muscles tensing and screaming as those two words pushed her up one last time. 

Her eyes didn't leave his while she struggled through the last pull-up. 

Then her limbs finally gave out.

She jumped down, swaying precariously until she titled into a pair of arms, apparently at the ready to catch her.

Panting, she watched the stark contrast of her pale fingers on the darker complexion of her defacto coach. 

She barely had time to notice that his skin was covered in fine lines and scars, before he spoke again, making her head snap up.

“Good.”

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She felt like she had run a marathon walking on her hands, but that simple word was like crossing the finish line. Victorious. 

Suddenly remembering herself, Bulma took a step back, his hands releasing without resistance. 

“Thanks. How did you know I could handle 10 reps?”

Vegeta shrugged, bending down to retrieve his towel and bottle of water, before heading to his usual punching bag.  

“Because you’re a stubborn bitch.”

She recognized the teasing hint in his gruff voice. 

If he noticed how badly her hands were shaking, he couldn't be bothered acknowledging it.  
.

 

***

 

Here, have a glimpse of the work of the wonderful [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree)

 

 

 


	2. Gunpowder and lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she tried to bring into focus the man beside her, his voice came again, this time softer, a deep murmur that breached the panicked miasma of her mind.  
> "You're safe. No one can hurt you here.”
> 
> Soundtrack: Friction - Imagine Dragons; Bravado - Lorde; Gunpowder and Lead - Miranda Lambert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains graphic mentions of aggression against women, violence, and post-traumatic stress symptoms, like panic attacks.
> 
> Here we are with the second chapter! [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) is working on her beautiful fan comic, too.  
> As always, my deepest thanks to my beta reader [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L).

 

 

_17 days after the attack_

 

  
At first, Bulma had to fight tooth and nails to be able to go to the gym.

Her parents and doctors were against it, insisting it was too soon after the attack. Her mother had insisted she visit a psychologist first.

But she didn’t need that, not now, not when her body thrummed with rage and helplessness. She had to prove to everyone around her that she was strong, that the attack would not repeat itself and no one could take her down so easily, ever again.

And she had to prove it to herself, too.

But no one really understood.

Everyone, from her parents to her closest friends, was treating her like a victim, a fragile thing that had to be protected from the cruelty of the world. 

Worst of all, they expected she act the part, judging her stubbornness and need to be active as some kind of problematic behavior.

It wasn’t.

It was just her, Bulma, trying to do something with her life so she didn’t have to dwell on that blasted night, thus losing her sanity.  
  
It was her pragmatic mind working: if something was broken, she fixed it.

If she lacked something to reach her goal, she would obtain it and proceed with her project.

Even if she had to learn how to fight for herself.

The Saiyan Gym was not just a place where she could get that knowledge. It was becoming her sanctuary, a shelter from all those pitying, disappointed looks she was so fed up with.

True, even Goku sometimes watched her with that same sympathy, but she did her darnest to ignore him, diving head first into training.

Everyone she came in contact with sported some variation of that look. Everyone except for Vegeta.

In his eyes, there was no trace of pity-- no sympathy.

In fact, as appearances went, he couldn't stand her.

At first, it had bothered her, an unspoken challenge to her social side and ego.

She was accustomed to being liked and accepted by everyone, so his indifference and disdain were sobering. But then she had started to be grateful for his grunts and scoffings.  
He was the only one that didn't treat her like a broken and helpless thing, speaking to her only to correct her posture and movements when Goku wasn’t around.

But he really didn’t care about her, only about his precious gym, and the possible litigation nightmare was she to hurt herself there.

This became crystalline several days into her routine at the gym.  
  
She was doing crunches on the bench, while Goku darted from her to another customer, doing his best to provide adequate attention to both.

The moment Vegeta entered the main hall, she felt the air change.

She didn’t know why, but she always knew when he was near. Her body tensed and sprang to alert. It was her a fight-or-flight reflex, a physical and psychological reaction to a potential danger.

As a scientist, Bulma had always been very good at comprehending and dissecting abstract concepts. Like post-traumatic stress response.

She knew in empirically what was happening inside her brain, but she was struggling to deal with the practical consequences: as in actually controlling her reactions and triggers.

She followed Vegeta out of the corner of her eye, as he settled in front of the same punching bag he abused on a daily basis and started his boxing routine.

It was like clockwork, every day the same, kicking and punching until his knuckles bled through the handwraps, the red smears on the equipment a mark of his passage.

She had asked Goku about it, but her friend had just chuckled and shaken his head in something resembling fondness.  
  
“He’s just… intense, when he trains. Very dedicated. Nothing to worry about,” Goku had explained, quickly ending their conversation.

Still, even if she found his grueling training gory and disturbing, Bulma couldn’t help but admire the man’s discipline.

She subconsciously tuned her own movements to the rhythmic succession of Vegeta’s punches and kicks until, after a while, he stopped, Goku calling for him from the smaller fitness room.

As he passed by, muttering curses between his gritted teeth, Bulma noticed him glance absentmindedly at her.

She could feel his gaze trailing the still tender scars on her belly, peeking from her shirt and sweater, which inch up a bit more with the repetitive movements of her sit-ups.  
  
He stopped in his tracks and loomed over her, his scowl deepening.

For a moment she feared he would look at her differently, breaking their precarious balance of cold but welcomed indifference.

Instead, he stopped her, two fingers on her shoulder - she felt the touch spread through her whole body, like a deep vibration.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at her stomach.

Bulma swallowed and got up to look him in the eyes, daringly.

"It’s the drain scar. I had internal bleeding, and they had to patch me up at the hospital..."

She waited for the inevitable stutter, the pitying look, and the empty platitude.

Instead, he almost screamed in her face.

"Are you insane? You can't do abdominals with that kind of injury still healing! Where the fuck is that idiot..."

He left her there, speechless and dumbfounded, as he stormed out muttering and growling Goku’s name.

As her friend emerged from the other studio, Vegeta grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him into their office.

Bulma followed, blood already boiling at the brutish way that asshole manhandled her friend.

The blood smear on the punching bag flashed in her periphery as she passed, foreboding.  
  
The office door was slightly ajar, but before she could open it, Vegeta’s voice rang out enraged.  
  
"How many times did I tell you to check on our customers' health conditions before allowing any training?"

"Calm down Vegeta! She told me she was fine..."

"And she clearly is not! That's why we collect the medical records and certificate, you idiot!"

“Listen, I know it seems a little strange and hasty, but she is…”

Afraid Goku would run his mouth about her incident, Bulma opened the door and rushed in, cutting him short.

“-a customer who would like to train, if you’re done with the chit chat.”

They watched her in silence for a couple of seconds, before Vegeta snorted, further if igniting her ire.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be the one deciding when and how you’ll train, Miss, since you’re in my gym.”

“It’s Goku’s gym, as well. And, I don't see why a couple of bruises and cuts could possibly pose so much of a problem!”

He slammed his fist onto the nearest desk, the wood creaking dangerously.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You conveniently omitted to your friend the fact that you are recovering from internal bleeding and surgery! What the hell were you thinking?”

She was aware their conversation was turning into a screaming match all the other customers could hear, but Bulma couldn’t care less. It wasn’t only her training at stake. She couldn’t go home empty handed, back to the dark void of her own mind and solitude.

Not yet.

“Oh, please! I’m not some fragile thing that will fall apart at the first push-up-”

“What part of recovery time do you not understand?”

She crossed her arms, mirroring Vegeta’s rigid, unforgiving pose, before dealing the killing blow. “You’re the last one to talk, given the fucking bloodstains you leave on your equipment!”

That actually shut him up.

Bulma basked in her little triumph as Vegeta’s mouth closed with a snap, only to curve in a ferocious sneer a split second later.

His voice was once again cold and unwavering when he spoke.

“Do what you want, I couldn’t care less. As long as you’re not suing the gym for any permanent damage you deliberately inflict on yourself.”

With that, he stormed out, slamming the office door so hard it nearly ripped off its hinges.

Goku sighed, his hand already scratching his nape - a gesture Bulma was very familiar with.

"Maybe it’s for the best if we avoid abs workout, at least for some days...”

She simply shrugged, still fuming.

“Yeah. I think it’s finally time for you to teach me some real fighting moves, anyway.”

“Bulma…”

He watched her, eyes softening, lowering. And she knew instinctually she would not like whatever came out of his mouth next.

“Don’t Bulma me. I told you that was my goal. I want to be stronger, able to kick some ass. If you’re not up to it, tell me now, and I’ll go to another gym.”

Goku sighed again, but the sweet flavor of triumph from before was long gone. His next words tasted like defeat.

“You’re my friend, of course I’ll do it…”

Without waiting for the end of the sentence, she nodded, opened the door and headed towards the main hall, where the practice mat awaited them.

“Then let’s go.”

*

The following days, training continued as if that unpleasantness never happened. Smooth sailing.  
  
Goku finally gave in and begun teaching Bulma the basics of Judo.

And, what better yet, his rude partner, Vegeta, had decided to let her existence in his universe go completely unacknowledged. No muttering, no shouting, no barked orders. Not once had he intervened to correct her movements or poses. As far as he was concerned, she was a nonfactor.

Every time she spared a glance his way, he was immersed in his training, focused on his punching bag as if the world started and ended on the bloody plains of his fists.

But she could swear he was watching her. She could feel it.

His gaze was a steady but extremely low voltage electrical surge, prickling her skin and forcing the short hairs at her nape stand on end.

Trying to ignore it was becoming a battle of will, one she was far too strong-willed to lose.

Bulma purged those thoughts from her mind and focused on Goku’s explanation. “See, first you dodge the jab by bending down,” he instructed. “Then you use your shoulder and bodyweight to tackle your adversary. Remember to close your arms around his middle, as in a hug but gripping tight your own wrist…”

As her friend explained, his long limbs reached behind her and closed around her waist. Bulma tensed but nodded nonetheless.

“Then, this is the most important part. Keeping your hold, you have to hook your leg behind your adversary’s ankle so that when you push forward with your body he will trip and fall. Watch out, now…”

Goku demonstrated the move slowly, but Bulma went down all the same.

The instant her back hit the mat, something snapped.

One moment she was training with Goku, the next she was engulfed in dejà-vu, freezing the blood in her veins. Her hands tingled, horror and anxiety filling her brain until she could discern her thoughts no more.

Her eyes widened to find Goku looming over her, his eyes large and full of worry. Then she blinked and that friendly, familiar face distorted, lips twisting into a stranger's dark smirk. Her mind glitched, interpreting her trainer's gentle hands at her side, checking for wounds or broken bones, as the cold pressure of filthy fingers groping, clamping on her throat.

"Bulma, are you hurt? What-?"

She tried to get up, to talk, to do something beyond trembling and choking on her own breaths, sprawled on the gym floor. But panic weighed her down like the hands of the man in that filthy alley, the blasted night of the attack, as darkness crept at the edges of her vision, enveloping her.

"Don't stand over her like an idiot, Kakarott! Move aside!"

The voice matched the rough, sharp pull on her shoulder that forced her to sit up. But then that same hand slid gently along her spine, reassuringly, while another one found the pulse on her wrist.

Her own fingers closed on it, grabbing that hand with all her strength in a silent plea for help.

As she tried to bring into focus the man beside her, his voice came again, this time softer, a deep murmur that breached the panicked miasma of her mind.

"You're safe. No one can hurt you here.”

She believed him, she really did, even if her body was still unreactive and numb.

He spoke again with the same gentle but demanding tone.

“Now, I want you to inhale, count to three, and exhale. Can you do that?"

Bulma gritted her teeth and swallowed.

She forced her numb lungs to work, expanding painfully her ribs until she could finally take a long and still strangled breath, then another and a third.

The warmth of the hand still skimming over her back seeped through the fabric of her shirt, radiating slowly along her frozen body.

"That's it. Good girl."

As she greedily gulped in the stale air of the gym, Bulma turned towards that voice, clinging to it like a lifeline as her sight and senses returned gradually.

Vegeta stared at her, his hand still trapped between her rigid fingers.

His gaze was hard and impassive as always but his eyes were softened by what she considered furthest from pity.

Understanding.

*

A couple of days after the panic attack, Bulma found herself wondering for the first time if training was really a good idea. Maybe her parents and friends were right: she wasn’t ready.

She dwelled on the matter better part of the morning, before grabbing her duffle and heading to the gym without looking back.

Full of shame and boiling in frustration, she couldn’t find it in herself to quit just yet.

Stepping into Saiyan Gym, she recognized Goku and Vegeta’s voices, muffled by the familiar sound of something being hit repeatedly.

She peeked around the doorless partition wall that curtained off the small reception area to find them in the main hall, training together.

Vegeta was torturing his punching bag as usual, maybe even more forcefully. His violent kicks and jabs were nearly knocking Goku over, who was trying his best to keep the sandbag still through the onslaught.  
  
She could see they were talking, maybe arguing, Vegeta’s hits becoming more violent as their conversation progressed. Bulma couldn’t make out what they were saying, except for some of the louder, more heated words sprinkled in.  
  
“C’mon, it would be fun!” Goku suddenly grinned, earning a vicious kick that knocked the air out of him, even through the sandbag.

“I don’t do this for fun!” Vegeta growled back, never stopping his assault.

Bulma moved a few steps inside and stilled, making use of the exercise equipment for concealment, curious about the topic of discussion.

“The competition then. I think you could use a challenge, for a change… I could bring Bulma too, it would do her good, you know…” Goku added, grounding himself and preparing for another of Vegeta’s powerful left hooks.  
  
“She reminds me a lot of you, sometimes...”

Vegeta’s fist stopped an inch from the sandbag, drops of sweat and blood colliding with the torn leather.

“I'm nothing like her,” he murmured, grabbing his water bottle and chugging its contents in a couple of swigs.

As Bulma tried to put together the pieces of the conversation, both men turned towards her, two pairs of eyes making her feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

She did her best to avoid their gazes, as she hurried towards the locker room.

After her warm up on the treadmill, she was surprised to find Vegeta at the practice mat instead of Goku, her usual coach nowhere to be seen.

Before she could ask about her friend, the man cut her short.

“I'll be training you from now on.”

Bulma was rendered speechless for a few heartbeats, before recovering from the surprise, and snorting, teeth grinding. “Why? You worried I'll break down in your precious gym?”

“Hardly. But if you suffer another panic attack, Kakarott's useless to you. Likely would make things worse.”

Bulma dropped her gaze and fidgeted with the laces of her shoes, suddenly self-conscious.

After all, Goku had only been trying to help last time. But, yeah… he'd made things much worse in his sympathetic panic.  
  
Then, there'd been Vegeta, she recalled, mortification and contrition bleeding into the embarrassment. He'd been steady, even-keeled, a rock to serve as an anchor through the storm of her anxiety episode, even though she'd been acting quite the bitch to him pretty much since they'd met.

“Thank you for… the other day,” she whispered, swallowing her own pride.

He simply shrugged, nonchalant.

“Don’t thank me. I just happen to know what to do in that circumstance.”

Toeing off her shoes to step into the mat, Bulma dared a bitter smile. “Are panic attacks commonplace for gymfaring folk?”

Vegeta leveled her with a serious look. “No. Only heavily injured folk, who don’t give themselves time to heal properly, neither physically nor psychologically.”

Bulma fought a wave of uneasiness: a mix of nausea, shame, and frustration. It was all she could feel nowadays, the bitter taste of it coating her mouth.

“Goku told you…” she whispered, looking away once again. She didn’t have the gravitas to meet his eyes.

“No. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’ve been through. And I actually watch the news, unlike that fool.”

After a moment of silence, Bulma heard him sigh. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Vegeta took one of her hands and started binding it with the boxing tape. His hold was surprisingly gentle and contrary to what she had expected, the touch didn't make her flinch. In fact, her skin tingled in an almost pleasant way.

“I’m not gonna teach you Judo or whatever that idiot was doing,” her new trainer grumbled.

That made the color return to her cheeks, coupled with a comforting burn of rage in her belly, but Vegeta just tugged at the bindings with more force than necessary, stifling her dissent before it was vocalized.

“Learning a specific martial art style would do you little good. Unless you plan on becoming a black-belt in a specific discipline, all you need is some basic knowledge of fighting technique and confidence to prepare for a real-life confrontation.”

Bulma listened, now curious, as Vegeta proceeded to wrap her other hand with the elastic fabric.

“We’ll start with the basics on which parts of the anatomy you should target and how best you should impact to cause the most damage with the least effort. Then, we'll move on to a few simple self-defense forms, Krav maga and Ju Jitsu, mostly.”

He took a step back, assessing her, but instead of the familiar tug of uneasiness, Bulma felt her ears warm under his scrutiny.

“Even if you learn to punch properly, you’re still limited in terms of strength,” he added, clicking his tongue and giving her his back. “You’re a girl, people will always underestimate you.”

Bulma crossed her arms, frowning at her new teacher.

She knew that very well, thank you, and it applied in every aspect of her life, from walking down the streets to being the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation.

If she had learned something from people constantly trying to bring her down and put her in her place, it was to never give up.

“Well, we can't all be the pinnacle brutish fortitude after you claimed the title…” she muttered.

Sliding on a pair of training pads, Vegeta huffed and growled over his shoulder.

“Will you let me finish, or would you rather do the teaching from now on?”

Bulma sighed and zipped her mouth, anticipating a long and dreadful afternoon.

“People will always underestimate you,” he continued more placidly. “But if you learn how to play the cards you've been dealt, you can use your adversaries’ strength and size against them...”

When he turned, his smirk was almost feral, but strangely enough, she wasn’t afraid.  
  
“And make them regret crossing your path.”

Her whole body thrummed in excitement, the feeling unfamiliar and almost forgotten after so long. Assuming her fighting stance on the mat, Bulma smirked back.

 

 

***

[Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) made a wonderful fanart of the panic attack scene, and I'm still squealing with happiness and recovering from so much beauty! *___* Be sure to check out her fan comic because it's AWESOME!

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Lithium flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on top of me,” he instructed.  
> “W-What?”  
> Bulma blinked, surely she had heard wrong.  
> Vegeta craned his head and hitched an eyebrow, his patience already thin.  
> “Did I stutter? C’mon, I don’t have all day!”
> 
> Soundtrack: Hiding - Florence + The Machine; Same High - Uh Huh Her; Raised by wolves - U2; Lithium Flower - Tim Jensen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains graphic mentions of aggression against women, violence, post-traumatic stress symptoms, and panic attacks.
> 
> We're back! This summer started with the wrong foot, but I really wanted to update this fic before the actual vacations.  
> In this chapter, we're going to see some real fight and we'll peek a little into Vegeta's past...
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and patience! I hope to be back on track with the updates soon (with The Lost Prince, too >.<"). meanwhile, [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) is working on the next chapter with her beautiful fancomic... 
> 
> And thanks to [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L), our wonderful beta-reader! <3

 

 

 

_24 days after the attack_

  
She was at the gym nearly every afternoon, a fixture that gave some predictability to the upheaval of her life.  
  
Even if their relationship was not exactly friendly, she found a strange sense of comfort in Vegeta simply being there for her, day after day.

True, he was still insufferable and cold at times, but his lessons appeared to be effective. She was improving.

The day he taught her to throw a punch without hurting herself, she was bursting with joy and nearly spent two hours kicking and beating the shit out of a punching bag before he screamed at her to stop.

“There’s no middle ground with you…” Vegeta had complained, ripping off her handwraps.

In the midst of the adrenaline rush, Bulma had actually found the courage to grin at him.  
“I’m learning from the best.”

She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she saw something resembling a blush spreading on his cheeks and ears.

The routine absorbed her completely, and because she had taken a temporary leave from her work, she actually looked forward to her afternoons at the Saiyan Gym.

She could already feel her body becoming stronger, more resilient, as her self-confidence slowly improved on par with her fighting ability.

Some days she felt like she was blooming, like a tough flower after a frigid winter.

She was running on the treadmill to warm up before another training session with Vegeta when Goku turned on the television on the far corner of the gym.

Before he could hit mute, the journalist’s voice rang in the hall. An old photograph of her sat in the upper corner of the screen.

“The manhunt for Bulma Briefs’ attacker goes on officers say, while there’s still no trace of the heiress at Capsule Corp. Her coworkers hadn’t seen her in days since-”

Bulma felt herself slip, the walls of the gym closing in on her, as reality intruded her little bubble of serenity and thrashed everything she had built with so much effort and struggle.

She focused on breathing, eyes fixed on the beeping numbers of the treadmill.

But no matter how much she ran, she couldn’t escape the glances and whispers of the other customers, already crawling and tingling on her skin like curious insects.

With a swift move, she pulled the hoodie and covered her head, hoping for some kind of privacy, but Vegeta’s hand snatched it back.

"Stop that. There’s no point in hiding,” he said, his voice a notch softer than his usual gruff tone.

“You did nothing wrong and have nothing to be ashamed of," he growled loud enough to be heard by the customers around them.

As she looked around, some of them averted their gaze, she didn't know if in embarrassment or in fear for Vegeta.

Either way, Bulma took a shaky breath and nodded, continuing with the training in grateful and soothing silence.

*

She would never admit it out loud, but Vegeta was really an excellent teacher. More than once Bulma felt the urge to take notes, as she did during her most challenging studies in College.  
Above everything else, Vegeta spoke her language. Weight balance and unbalance, leverage, positional advantage: it occurred to her that self-defense was based on simple physics.

She could use the very concepts she saw every day in her labs, to subdue a bigger and stronger opponent. The realization made her heart rattle her ribcage with wonder.

“I’ll show you some simple moves from Brazilian Ju Jitsu,” Vegeta explained during one of their first lessons together. “The key is getting hold of your opponent and forcing them to the ground.”  
“Wait,” she interrupted him. “What about the classic kick in the groin or poke-them-in-the-eye moves?”

He simply lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Did it work the last time?”

Bulma swallowed, fighting back a sudden surge of painful memories.  
  
Vegeta was many things, but subtle was not one of them.

“No.”

Her trainer sighed, his tone softening considerably. “Those are just Hollywood moves, barely effective since you don’t usually have the time or the space to move freely. And if they don’t work, in the worst case you’d enrage your aggressor further. If you must strike, aim at the joints: shoulders, knees, ankles. Each one of them can be broken or dislocated by pressing certain pressure points. A knee, in particular, could be broken with a sidekick, for maximum efficiency.”

The aseptic way in which Vegeta talked about broken bones and dislocated shoulders was appalling, like he really didn’t care about anyone’s suffering.

He cleared his throat, not at all pleased by the way he had been interrupted and sidetracked.  
“Anyway, back to the point. Your goal is to take your opponent down, making him fall. Taking the fight on the ground offsets the difference in strength, weight, and size between you and the attacker. On the floor, strength is less useful but technique becomes fundamental.”

Then, he proceeded to show her how to break free from several grips and attacks from behind, hooking her opponent’s leg to make them lose balance and topple.  
  
The night of the assault replaying nonstop in her mind, Bulma finally found the courage to utter the one question that boiled inside her since the beginning of their lesson.

“What if I’m the one immobilized on the ground?” she asked in a strained voice. “Like… if the attacker is on top of me, choking me.”

Vegeta observed her for a moment, probably assessing her reaction and the real meaning behind that interrogative.

Being held down had triggered her last panic attack, after all. An occurrence neither of them wanted to repeat.

Bulma felt her anxiety grow as several seconds passed in silence, and her coach decided how to proceed.

Finally, Vegeta moved to settle on the mat on his back.

“Come on top of me,” he instructed.

“W-What?”

Bulma blinked, surely she had heard wrong.

Vegeta craned his head and hitched an eyebrow, his patience already thin.

“Did I stutter? C’mon, I don’t have all day!”

As she settled knees to flank his upper legs, Bulma could feel his quadriceps tensing beneath her thighs. It was like straddling an unbendable steel bar.

It was strange, almost exhilarating, pinning someone so powerful.

Vegeta continued with his lesson completely unaffected by their position. He even took her wrists and positioned her tiny hands around his throat.

“There are two ways to free yourself from this kind of situation,” he explained. “The first one is to use your pelvis to buck your assailant off by force. Be sure to plant your feet on the ground for this-”

He demonstrated with a sudden upward movement of his hips that nearly made Bulma crumble on top of him if it wasn’t for the arms around her waist that kept her upwards. For a long moment, they stood still, their faces mere inches apart until she stuttered, “W-warn me next time! I nearly fell!”

“That's the point!” he croaked, while she did her best not to blush furiously.

It seemed to her that his face was a little red too, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

“The second option comes into play when the assailant is choking you with his legs in-between yours…”

He swiftly changed their position, so Bulma was kneeling between his legs, still on top of him.  
Vegeta paused, probably realizing she was completely flustered.

“You alright?”

“Y-yes. Sure. Go on,” she stuttered, hoping another panic attack wasn’t looming.

“The first thing to do is break the grasp on your neck,” he explained while clasping his arms together, moving them up and out to remove and spread her hands.

Bulma nearly fell on him, catching herself just in time by bracing her hands on either side of his face. So much close contact should have bothered her, she reasoned. It had happened before.  
But, the buzzing in her brain had nothing to do with fear and anxiety. She found a strange knot settling in the pit of her stomach, making her feel dizzy.

Vegeta, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by her close proximity. His voice didn’t even falter as he further instructed her. “You either do this, or you try to insert your elbow between his arms, pushing out and bringing his own elbow in with your hand. Then, you put your other hand on his opposite shoulder and pull. As you can see, he’s gonna rotate and fall to the side. You just have to steer his movement by putting your legs over his head…”

Thank every deity she knew, he didn’t demonstrate the last part. She wasn’t ready to be choked by those iron thighs of his. Instead, with a graceful move, he disentangled their bodies and got to his feet, not bothering to help her do the same.  
  
“This maneuver is a little advanced,” he added, retrieving his water bottle and putting some distance between them. “We’ll come back to it when you’re ready.”

Bulma nodded, almost relieved. But, she couldn’t help notice the tips of Vegeta’s ears turning a subtle shade of red, as her coach wobbled away mumbling about some paperwork needing attention and leaving her there, dumbfounded and confused.

*

When Bulma arrived at the gym a couple of days later, she was surprised to find it closed, with Goku waiting at the front entrance.

“Hey, Bulma!” He greeted her with an excited smile. “No training today, sorry! I didn’t have the time to warn you… but I have something to show you. Trust me, it will be awesome!”

She followed her friend through the streets of Capital City, until they arrived at the sports arena, crowded with hotdog vendors and people searching for scalped tickets. Goku led her through the crowd, greeting a bald guard at the entrance.

“Yo, Piccolo! Can you let us pass? Vegeta’s in the ring today.”

The guard grunted, but complied. “So I heard. That explains the hype for today’s tournament… Hurry up, I think the semifinals just started.”

Goku laughed and waved as they passed.

“Thanks, buddy! Come to the gym sometimes, free entrance for you!”

As they entered the arena, Bulma covered her head with the hoodie. She hadn’t ventured to crowded places since the attack, and the idea of being in the middle of hundreds of drunken and overexcited men was making her nervous.

She hurried her pace in order to stay as close to Goku as possible. The booming voices of the audience were deafening, as her friend dragged her to the bleachers.

As soon as they sat down, Goku pointed towards the central ring, where she spotted a familiar silhouette.

As her friend had stated, there Vegeta stood, completely absorbed in a fight with a burly man, nearly twice his size.

Bulma observed him as he moved on the ring, fast and lethal like a predator.

When she was a teenager, she'd watched Goku fight in various school tournaments, but Vegeta was nothing like him. He was fast, his every movement precise and controlled, optimizing every drop of energy. But, his blows weren’t any less powerful.

He rammed on his adversary like a hurricane, making the bigger man stumble every time his fists or kicks landed.  
  
It occurred to her that he was using his smaller frame and speed to tire his adversary, striking at every opening.

“It’s so great to finally see him in a ring!” Goku beamed, totally absorbed by the spectacle.  
  
“Why? I thought he was a professional fighter like you…”

“Maybe some years ago. He hasn’t fought in a MMA match since…” suddenly remembering himself, Goku shut his mouth, looking sheepishly at her. “Oops, sorry, not my story to tell… But he’s still the best, see?”

As if confirming her friend’s words, Vegeta chose that moment to pivot, leg darting high and hitting his adversary on the side of the head, the movement so fast it was blurred.

The man swayed and fell, failing to get up as the bell rang.

A scoreboard hung over the stage displayed the results of the match, as speakers boomed Vegeta's victory.

Goku cheered along with the crowd, and when Vegeta left the ring, he followed, dragging Bulma with him.

“Come on, we have some time before the finals.”

As they entered the restricted area housing the locker rooms, Bulma realized Goku was well known and loved among the arena personnel. Everyone allowed him access with a smile and cheerful greeting.

“When I was younger I literally lived here,” he confessed at her inquiry. “Both competing in tournaments, and watching others fight. It was the best. And now that Vegeta’s back, I’m looking forward to fighting him for the National title!”

Bulma smiled at her friend’s excitement. She had to admit the show was quite entertaining, now that she had some context for understanding what was going on in the ring. She could get used to it. Like the old days, when she and her friends were cheering for Goku’s victories.

They found Vegeta in one of the locker rooms, busy rearranging his handwraps.

From his surprised and grim face, it was clear he wasn’t thrilled to see them there.

Oblivious to the hostile atmosphere, Goku launched himself at his partner like an overexcited child.

“Gosh, Vegeta! That match was awesome! And that last kick… wow! I told you you’d do great in the ring, even after all these years…”

Bulma was about to congratulate him for his victory, when Vegeta pointed at her, nearly snarling.  
“What the fuck is she doing here? I told you not to bring her with you, idiot!”

“But I thought…”

Ignoring her, Vegeta got up and violently dumped his empty bottle in the trash.

“No, Kakarott. You don’t think, that’s your problem. She doesn’t belong in a place like this…”

Tired of being spoken of as if not in the room, Bulma took a step forward, vexation making her voice ring higher.

“Excuse me? I’m right here, asshole!” she growled. “And I can go wherever I want, with or without your permission!”

The moment Vegeta focused his disdainful glare on her, she almost regretted her harsh words.

Almost.

“Oh, I’ll tell you where you can go…”

“Ouji, five minutes!” The sudden appearance of an attendant heralding the next fight saved her.  
  
Vegeta spared her one last glare and left the locker room, ramming his shoulder into Goku, for good measure on his way out.

“Let’s go,” Bulma growled, wanting nothing more than to leave that damned place and the arrogant fighter.

But, Goku nearly kneeled in front of her, begging and pleading with puppy eyes and all.  
“Please, can we stay for the next fight? It’s the final, so it’s the last one, I promise. Pretty please…”

Bulma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Ok, but you’ll never bring me to this place ever again, even if your bastard partner wins every tournament from now on. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

They made it back to the bleachers in time for the start of the final match. Vegeta was already in the ring, cracking his neck with an arrogant grin plastered on his face.

Bulma groaned at the display, rolling her eyes. Why was she always surrounded by cocky bastards?

As the other opponent jumped in the ring, Goku paled.

“Oh, fuck… That’s bad. I didn’t know he had entered this tournament.”

Bulma eyed the man standing before Vegeta. With his long braided hair and angelic looks, the man didn’t strike her as someone particularly strong or difficult to beat for a fighter as experienced and brutal as Vegeta.

But now that she noticed, even her coach seemed a bit affected by the man's appearance, his complexion visibly paler than before.

“Who’s that?” she asked to a more and more worried Goku.

“One of Vegeta’s old friends… Someone you wouldn’t like to meet in a dark alley or, like, ever. Trust me on that...”

As the match began, even Bulma could see something was off.

Vegeta wasn't acting like himself, the precision and power shown in the previous match was suddenly gone.

He was moving in shambles, dodging his opponent's blows at the last possible second, rarely managing to hit him with no consequences whatsoever.

Zarbon succeeded in knocking him down twice with frighteningly ease, but each time Vegeta managed to get up on time, even if on shaky legs.

But, he could neither dodge nor block the third blow, a powerful kick to the ribs that slammed him onto the floor full force.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the set, but when the referee wasn't looking, Zarbon hit Vegeta with a sharp kick to the head while he was still on the ground.

“That's bullshit!” Goku cried, literally jumping from his seat. “Zarbon hit him after the end of the set! What's that referee doing?!”

The ref's countdown resounded in the arena but Bulma’s gaze was focused on Vegeta.

He was still down, blood dripping from a gash on his temple, unnaturally still.

“C'mon, Vegeta. Get up…” she muttered, eyes glued on him. What was going on?

She could see his muscles straining and tensing as if desperately trying to move, but his body remained rigid, eyes closed and jaw so clamped, she could almost feel the grinding of his teeth even from distance.

The realization hit her like a punch, square in the gut.

As the referee decreed Zarbon the winner of the match, Vegeta's eyes shot open. He stood in a hurry, leaving the ring and disappearing into the locker rooms under the shocked gazes of the crowd.

“Damn it!” Goku muttered, as he jumped to his feet and ran down the bleachers two steps at a time. Bulma followed him, already guessing his destination.

Passing by the first aid point at the foot of the ring, she absentmindedly snatched an ice-pack and a bunch of gauzes.

She couldn't keep up with her faster friend, and when she reached Vegeta's locker room, harsh words were already flying around.

“Stay out of this, Kakarott!”

“But Zarbon was playing dirty! You can't just give in and walk away from this...”

The loud clang of something smashing on a metal surface made her take one step further and open the door.

Vegeta was leaning on the lockers, his whole body trembling in fury as Goku tried and failed to calm him.

Just before she could tell him to back off, she felt someone move in the corridor behind her, drawing Goku's attention and shouts.

“That's the ref! Hey, you! Yes, I'm talking to you! What the hell-”

With that, her friend left, running after the referee, and leaving her alone with Vegeta.

She could see the dented print of a fist on a locker beside him, a towel smeared in red abandoned carelessly on the floor.

Vegeta was giving her his back, the muscles of his shoulders jumping at every sharp intake of air.

Her fingers itched with the sudden urge to smooth his spine and ease a little of the tension coiled there. But, she kept her hands to herself, knowing all too well that touching him now would snap the invisible thread that kept him sane.

"If you're here to whine or say something stupid, you can take your pity and leave me the fuck alone, now!" he seethed at her after a while.

She managed to keep her voice leveled and calm as she answered back. "I told you before. You don't get to tell me what to do or where to go.”

The moment he spun around, venomous words on the tip of his tongue, she tossed the ice pack at him.

He grabbed it deftly, and she repressed a relieved sigh. His reflexes were exceptional as usual, so, no concussion.

But, the left side of his face was starting to bruise and swell, the deep cut on his eyebrow still oozing blood.

"You look like shit," she whispered, trying with all herself to keep the worry well hidden behind the wall of words she had so carefully chosen.

Vegeta leveled her with one of his stoic glares and snorted, swiftly hiding behind his worn-out armor of arrogance.

"Tsk. This is nothing."

It was true. She had seen worse and so had he, given the number of scars that covered his arms and chest.

"Exactly," she answered, barely stopping herself from growling. "It's nothing. He's nothing."

She was so unreasonably angry.

Angry with the referee for his misconduct. Angry with that Zarbon guy for what he did in the ring, and for whatever it was he had done in the past to so easily rattle someone as tough as Vegeta.  
Because, she had recognized the irrational fear holding him back in that ring. It was the same one that pushed her down every day, heavy and thick like molasses, paralyzing her limbs, slowing her brain and making breathing difficult.

The same fear she fought tooth and nails every day during her training with Vegeta.

She made sure to meet his eyes when she spoke again, trying to sound nonchalant, for both their sakes. "You'll be ok for tomorrow's training?"

Vegeta observed her for a long time and maybe she saw a glimpse of gratitude in the depth of his dark gaze before he turned his back on her again and fell silent.

Bulma waited, mentally counting all his scars two times as minutes passed.

Defeated, she turned to leave, reaching for the door.

As she grabbed the handle roughly, his voice reached her, strained and soft.

"Of course. Who do you think you're talking to?"

The door closed behind her, with a muted click.

*

In the list of people Bulma expected to cross in her quest to become stronger, her ex-boyfriend didn't even factor. So, no one could fault her shock at finding the man in front of the Saiyan Gym the next day.

Yamcha waved at her with a tight smile and she cringed. “Hey B., how are you doin'?”

She was already late for her training session and didn’t have time for whatever drama the man had in store.

“I’m fine, Yamcha. Sorry, I'm late for-”

“Your training, I know. Your mum told me you literally live in this place, now.”

Oh, so that was it. Her mum's last recourse, the gallant Sir Yamcha to the rescue. No dragons to slay or goons to fight, though. Only a mad princess to save from herself.

Bulma didn't even slow her angry pace as she marched towards the entrance of the gym, but Yamcha put himself between her and her destination.

“Listen, Bulma, I’m here for you…”

“That would be a first,” she snarled trying to cross him, but he was blocking the narrow passage with his body.

“You're always in this gym. It's neither normal nor healthy for you, right now…”

“And what would be normal?” she shouted, anger bubbling and threatening to overflow. “To lock myself up in my room crying? Hiding in the shadow like a scared mouse? Tell me, because you and all those people on tv and nearly everyone in this city, clearly know better than I how I should or shouldn't behave in this situation!”

Yamcha reached for her, and the world stopped, swaying before her eyes.

"I'm just worried for you! I don't see the point of torturing yourself to learn some useless Kung Fu move-"

The moment his hand closed on her wrist something kicked in, a rush of adrenaline and fear and something else that made her turn and lift her arm.

The punch surprised them both, as Yamcha staggered back holding his bleeding nose.

"What the hell!?"

Bulma swallowed, trying to calm her breathing. "As you can see my kung fu moves are improving."

"Yes, but you’re hitting the wrong person! You're truly insane..." he mumbled through the hand still cupping his mouth and nose.

Before she could answer, a shout silenced them both.

Vegeta leaned on the gym door, his scowl deeper than usual. His eyes scanned Yamcha, assessing his state and the situation. Then, he completely ignored the other man, turning his dark glare on her.

"You're late. Get in and change," he growled, turning without waiting for her.

She complied, leaving a dumbfounded and stuttering Yamcha behind. He didn't even try to follow her inside, probably scared by her mean-looking coach.

Bulma knew that hitting him like that was deeply wrong, but an unknown part of her still cried for blood, ready to rip his heart out with bare hands.

She shuddered, retreating to the locker room to change in order to escape from Vegeta’s glares.  
When she entered the main hall, her coach was waiting for her beside a punching bag. His left cheekbone and eye were still bruised and swollen from the last night's fight, but he had let someone stitch the deep gash on his eyebrow.

She didn’t wait for his instruction and started hitting the bag with increasing aggressiveness.

Vegeta didn’t utter a word. He simply watched her with one of his trademark scows plastered on his bruised mug.

As minute after minute passed, his silence bothered her more and more. So much so that, after a while, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She threw a last kick at the bag and turned, snarling. “Ok, spit it out!”

Vegeta shrugged, unaffected. “I didn’t say anything.”

Bulma snorted, back to hitting the punching bag with more rage than finesse, just to spite him.

“I know you’re dying to lecture me like a bad child. Be a man, and speak your mind!”

One punch, a left hook, a high kick: still nothing. Bulma bit her lip, her hand throbbing in pain and her mind buzzing with a different kind of frustration.

“He deserved that,” she growled, between ragged breaths. “He grabbed me out of nowhere. He should have known…”

Ignoring the lack of reaction from Vegeta, she continued, punches and kicks punctuating every word. “Do you know what he told me three days after the attack, when he had the balls to visit me in the hospital? That he felt guilty and sorry for what happened to me, because if we hadn’t broken up, he would have been at my side that night, protecting me."

"Fuck off!” she screamed, smashing the punching bag with her elbow, teeth clattering painfully.  
“I ain’t no fucking damsel in distress, waiting for Prince fucking Charming to save me. I’ve never  
needed it, and sure as hell I don’t need it now!”

Vegeta simply stared at her as she panted, the arch of his brow egging her on further. “Again. I didn’t say anything.”

With that, Bulma snapped and turned, aiming the last punch at him. But Vegeta easily caught her fist before it contacted his jaw.

They stood like that for a minute, her ragged breaths the only sound in the hall until he finally spoke. “I didn’t teach you to fight so you'd go off and break a weakling’s nose first lovers’ quarrel you had.”

His severe tone washed over her like a cold shower, making her lower her gaze in shame. Deep down, she knew he was right, but…

Vegeta lowered her fist and opened it, loosening her fingers one by one.

Bulma let her hand rest on his bigger one as he retrieved something from his pocket. He had long calloused fingers, a little rough and ruined at the knuckles due to his intense training and the harsh encounter with the locker at the arena.

When he put the ice-pack on her swollen knuckles, the cold made her shiver on the edge of relief and pain. His touch was gentle but unassuming, mirroring his tone. “But if you really have to hit someone, try at least not to hurt yourself while you’re at it. I taught you better than keeping your thumb sticking out like that.”

Bulma’s eyes darted back to his, round and wide in surprise. The corner of his mouth twitched, prompting laughter to bubble at the back of her throat. She let the anger melt like butter on the curl of an unexpected smile.

Allowing herself to observe him better, she saw that the haunted look he wore at the arena the day before was gone, his eyes still dark but warmer. Her fingers drifted of their own accord to the cut on his eyebrow, following its puckered edges with the tip of her index.

“Yeah, you taught me better…”

He took a step back and for a moment, Bulma feared she had crossed the invisible line that outlined their strange relationship. But, Vegeta simply shrugged and headed towards the practice mat, calling for her over his shoulder, when she didn't move.

“C'mon, princess. We have work to do.”

Bulma sighed and followed. Her hoodie sat forgotten in a corner, like a useless rag.

 

  
***

 

As always [Rutbisbe](https://twitter.com/rutisfree/status/1156529328475299840) melted my heart with this beauty, straight from her fancomic... Enjoy! <3

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wanted to scream for help, shout until her throat ached, as she had done - in vain - the night of the attack, but her voice was stuck and the only sounds echoing in the locker room were the falling water and the clattering of her teeth.
> 
> No one had come for her that night, no one would come now. 
> 
> She was alone. 
> 
>  
> 
> Soundtrack: Indestructible (Acoustic) - Robyn; Grand Piano - Nicki Minaj; Protection - Massive Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains graphic mentions of aggression against women, violence, post-traumatic stress symptoms, and panic attacks.
> 
> We're heading to some heavy stuff here, so you may want to be cautious if PTS or victim-blaming is somewhat of a trigger to you.  
> These are topics I deeply care about, and I'm grateful to [Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) and her fan comic idea for giving me the opportunity to address them with this fic, but I understand it might be difficult for someone.  
> So please, take care of yourself and know that you're not alone and your feelings are valid.
> 
> The all moving on/ moving forward concept was inspired by a really touching and insightful Ted Talk on grief I discovered a while ago. You can find it [here](https://www.ted.com/talks/nora_mcinerny_we_don_t_move_on_from_grief_we_move_forward_with_it), if you're curious.
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-reader [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L), that manages to turn my jumbled words in something that actually makes sense. <3

 

_29 days after the attack_

 

 

 

 

They never spoke about the tournament, a silent agreement born of their wordless training, where nothing else mattered except hard work and dedication. 

 

Her lessons with Vegeta were really paying off. Her technique was getting better by the day, and something else was growing, against all odds: trust in both Vegeta and herself.

Bulma was sure she would be capable of taking on a street punk on her own by month's end.

 

Maybe she would never be a professional fighter like Vegeta, but she was determined to come close.

 

They had started sparring, and, even if he limited himself to dodging, blocking and occasionally tackling her, he always managed to challenge her balance and grounding. He pointed out every weak spot she left open and explained how a challenger would exploit them. 

 

It was deeply enlightening. 

 

Bulma launched herself at him once more, ignoring the sweat rolling down her spine and drenching her shirt. Her muscles burned from exertion, but her mind was pleasantly blank. 

In those moments, when her world reduced to two bodies dancing on a mat and the feral desire to fell her opponent, she truly felt lighter-- finally free.

 

She could go on forever.

 

As soon as he dodged and diverted a blow with his forearm, she coiled like a spring to strike him back with a high kick, but Vegeta blocked her, catching her ankle and trapping her leg in that uncomfortable position.

 

“You always overdo it,” he scolded her. “If you were on the street, a move like this would be your demise. You have to think about how to defend and protect yourself, even when you’re attacking!”

 

She growled and bent down to put her hands on the mat, pushing on them to kick him in the stomach with the other leg, but once again Vegeta was faster and easily blocked the blow with his forearm.

 

Running out of options, her arms finally gave out and she stumbled on the mat, exhausted.

 

“And what was _that_?” Vegeta asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Dunno. But I thought it would work…”

 

She let him haul her to her feet with a sharp tug of her hand. 

 

“Hardly. Get in position, we’re doing one last round.”

 

Bulma was about to start when someone called and waved at her from the entrance of the gym. It was Krillin, greeting her with a tilt of his policeman hat.

 

“Long time no see, Bulma,” he said sheepishly, as soon as she joined him, eyeing with increasing worry Vegeta’s severe scowl. “You look… very good. I’m glad.”

 

She allowed a little smile to curl her lips. “Actually, I’m feeling great, thank you.”

 

It was true. She hadn't felt so relaxed and happy since the attack, a deep sense of contentment that even Krillin’s presence and the painful flashbacks he dredged couldn’t undermine. 

 

“Your parents told me you were here, so…” her friend said, looking her in the eyes as he added, solemnly, “We found him, Bulma.”

 

The news hit her like a brick wall, settling heavily in her stomach.

 

She knew who Krillin was talking about. Her attacker had finally being caught. 

 

Without waiting for an answer, Krillin retrieved an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

 

“He’s under arrest, and the trial date has already been set, three weeks from now. This is your notice, you’ll just have to id him and testify, then we’ll be able to lock the bastard away for good.”

 

Bulma opened the piece of paper with trembling hands, reading over and over the legal jargon written on it until words didn’t make sense anymore. She felt herself sway, and swallowed back a wave of nausea, while a familiar shade of black shrouded her vision.

“Thanks, Krillin. I’ll see you in court then,” she croaked, heading towards the locker room before she fainted in front of her friend and the other occupants.

 

Vegeta’s hand brushed her elbow, making her flinch abruptly.

 

“You alright?” he asked, his usual frown charged with worry. 

 

But Bulma couldn’t see him anymore, her fingers blindly gripping the handle almost convulsively, to keep from breaking down. “Y-yes. Yes, I’m good,” she lied, opening and closing the door behind her without looking back.

 

Inside, she collapsed on the bench, cradling her head between her hands to take several calming breaths. But it was of no use, her heart rabbiting in her chest and threatening to break her ribcage with its panicked throb. 

 

Every time she thought the panic under control, it struck back, thrashing at every hard-earned aegis of sanity she'd patiently erected. She was tired of picking up the pieces of her own life, over and over again.  

 

Bulma closed her eyes, but a face she’d rather forget came fluttering back to her, imprinted on the inside of her eyelids. She had to face that man, in three weeks. 

 

News about the trial would spread in a few days, and she would once again be thrust into the spotlights having her private life, choices, and behavior dissected for public scrutiny and judgement. Just like her aggressor.

 

She wasn’t ready for that, maybe she never would be, no matter how much she trained and struggled to defend herself. Helplessness enveloped her, cooling the dried sweat from the previous training off her skin, a strand of hair sticking to her brow.

 

She got up, discarding her shoes, drenched t-shirt, and pants. She wanted nothing more than to wash away that thick layer of loathing, blame, and self-doubt from her skin. As she entered the shower stall and turned the faucet on, her eyes dropped to the mirror wall. 

 

She scrutinized her reflection with increasing unease, counting every mar remaining. The cut on her scalp, now almost covered by her growing hair, the scar under her eye, and the one left by the drain on her belly, the fading bruises that dotted her clear skin on her neck, arms, and legs. 

 

There were other wounds, too, invisible to the eye. Those were the most difficult to heal, throbbing painfully every time she thought of that night-- the senseless violence of the attack.

 

She could still feel the desperate sound of her heels scratching helplessly on the pavement, the gravel under her nails and the pungent stench of blood and terror making her retch.

 

She swayed, a sudden surge of nausea making her lean on the shower wall. She slid down like the drops of water on the tiles.

 

Bulma curled up in a ball, embracing her knees, trying to ease her breathing. Warm water cascaded over her, but a different kind of cold froze her bones and limbs, making her shudder uncontrollably. 

 

She wanted to scream for help, shout until her throat ached, as she had done - in vain - the night of the attack, but her voice was stuck and the only sounds echoing in the locker room were the falling water and the clattering of her teeth.

 

No one had come for her that night, no one would come now. 

 

She was alone. 

 

She didn’t know how much time she'd stayed under the shower before feeling someone turn off the now cold water, and wrap her in a big towel. 

 

Her body flinched at the touch but Vegeta’s soothing voice seeped through her bones and warmed her, even more than the soft, dry fabric. “It’s just me,” he whispered, gathering her up into his arms and off the tiled floor. “You’re safe. It's just me.”

 

Her panicked brain screamed at her to run, but her arms wrapped themselves around Vegeta's neck and shoulders. He felt warm and real, his grip so sure, as if he planned on never letting go. 

 

After a while, Bulma felt herself being lowered, and she clung desperately to him, a shudder rocking her whole body. Her numb lips opened and closed, but nothing came out. 

Vegeta’s arms tightened around her in a reassuring squeeze, and his lips skimmed her temple, leaving the skin there burning. 

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his warm breath bouncing on her skin. “But I need to dry you up. You’re freezing.”

 

She nodded, and let him set her down on the bench, but her fingers remained closed on the drenched fabric of his shirt. 

 

Vegeta knelt before her, rubbing the towel on her numb limbs until she could feel the tingling of her skin. He took another towel and dried her hair, fingers gently massaging her scalp, mindful of the scar on her temple. 

 

He spoke to her the whole time, telling her exactly what he was doing with that deep and soothing voice she had heard him use just for her. Then, his calloused hand swiped back the wet bangs covering her face and eyes, trying to meet her gaze. His hand was hot on her shivering skin and she nuzzled into it. 

 

“I have to find something dry and warm for you to wear. I’ll be right back, ok?” he quickly told her, as panic flashed in her eyes. “Breathe, Bulma.”

 

She concentrated on the sound of his voice, the way his lips moved while he repeated her name. He had never said it out loud, before. 

 

By the time he was back, she had somehow regained a little bit of control over her body. So, he handed her a pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt and left, giving her some privacy to change.

 

The shirt was too big but Vegeta’s scent - a unique blend of storebrand soap and hard work - was all over it. She inhaled greedily, finding it strangely soothing.  

 

She didn’t bother to put on her shoes, and padded bare-footed along the corridor of the gym. It was probably late, the main hall empty and dark. Feeble light flickered in one of the offices and she followed it, like a moth drawn to its glow.

 

Vegeta was there, filling two mugs with some hot tea from a nearby kettle. 

 

“I was going to bring you one,” he murmured, noticing her loitering at the threshold, handing her a steamy cup.

 

As soon as Bulma took it, she wrapped her hands around the mug, letting its warmth seep through her still rigid fingers. She sat on a nearby bench, followed by Vegeta. His forearm and shoulder brushed against hers and she fought the lingering urge to lean into him like before.

 

When her voice finally came, hoarse and thin, she barely recognized it as her own. “How did you find me?”

 

Vegeta shrugged, making their shoulders bump gently into one another. “I was working late, and heard the water running,” he said, turning just a fraction to get a glimpse of her face. “I thought you had already gone home.”

 

“I…”  Bulma blinked into her untouched tea, suddenly at a loss for words.

 

“Drink it,” he interrupted her, the tenderness in his voice so foreign, but with a familiar gruff edge.  “You’re still shivering.”

 

She complied, swallowing her tears along with the hot beverage. 

 

She hated to cry, and doing it in front of someone like Vegeta was unfathomable. But, at the same time, there was something in him, an invisible thread made of silent companionship that made her believe he could actually understand. He could grasp the loose ends of the raging chaos that was her mind and life. 

 

A broken sob shook her, making the tea spill from her cup. “I can’t do this,” she hiccuped, loathing the taste of surrender in her own mouth, as those words escaped her lips. “I thought I was strong enough to fend for myself, to face my fears and triumph over them. To get over this mess and move on, but… I’m just a silly, weak girl who can’t even find the courage to face a single man, let alone a bunch of jackals.”

 

She felt something liquid drip down her cheek, and scrubbed it away angrily, her voice breaking, as she tried to hide her tear-streaked face, to stop that shameful spectacle. 

“I’m pathetic…”

 

She didn’t fight Vegeta’s fingers, as they skimmed gently her jaw and turned her chin to face him. “You’re not weak. There’s nothing wrong or pathetic in what you’re doing.”

His eyes smoldered, a pool of darkness in the dim light, but she wasn’t afraid as he repeated, with unwavering belief, “ _Nothing_.”

 

She almost missed it, but it was there, flashing in the depth, the faintest spark in his eyes. Perhaps it was rage, or maybe some sort of acknowledgment and admiration. It was gone in an instant, as Vegeta lowered his gaze.

 

“I know very well what fear and helplessness taste like…”

 

Bulma waited in silence, as he searched his own mug for the right words to elaborate.

 

“Fighting was never leisure for me. My parents died when I was young, so as soon as I left school, being on a ring became work, something I survived on. And in order to survive, I started competing in clandestine tournaments, the kind you bet on. I was a rising star of the underground and it went well until the local mafia let me have my victories. But then, one day, they ordered me to lose the next fight.”

 

He took a sip of his tea, gaze lost in the darkness of his own memory.

 

“I couldn’t have that. My pride wouldn't allow it. So, I defied them. I won the fight, but nothing happened. The next match, my adversary was a new guy, twice my size and age. I learned afterwards, he was not an MMA fighter, but a professional killer.”

 

Bulma felt her lip tremble, and she bit it until she tasted blood. She knew what was coming next, the thin scars littering his whole body flashing in her memory as an omen. 

 

“I lost. I lost badly. The problem with underground fights, you see, is that there are no rules, whatsoever. He didn’t stop when I was down, nor at the ringing bell. Then the others arrived, Zarbon, Raccoome… It was their chance to make me pay for my arrogance, and they took full advantage.”

 

His voice remained leveled and calm, but his fingers were clenching the mug so tightly that his knuckles were white. She reached out without thinking, her pale hand closing gently on his own before she could think better of it. 

 

Vegeta cleared his voice, rousing himself, as if remembering just then who and where he was, but he didn’t shrug her hand off. “I don’t recall how I ended at the hospital,” he continued. “I had a concussion, the blows cracked my skull and cheekbone, and they broke a couple of ribs, nearly collapsing a lung. My left arm was fractured in three points, plus my appendix ruptured and I had severe internal bleeding...” 

 

The detached and aseptic way with which he enumerated his nasty wounds should have bothered her. Instead, it was strangely grounding.  She watched the scars on his left arm, following the white, harsh lines, imagining his pain and struggle. 

 

He wasn’t sharing his story with her to dwell on her pity, but to prove something. Despite all that shit, Vegeta had survived. That didn't lessen the rage she felt inside. 

 

“The doctors couldn't understand how I survived, but I did,” he continued. “Couldn't fight for almost two years, though. I got depressed, and at the mere sight of a ring, I had several panic attacks. Like the other day, at the arena…” he confessed.

 

He finally turned to face her, his gaze unusually open and vulnerable. “This kind of pain is not like a broken bone you can set and forget about. Bruises and cuts will fade,” he added, gently swiping her hair back to trace the scar on her temple. “But not all wounds are meant to heal. Some of them are invisible, deeper, a chronic illness that will always be with you.”

 

At her dismayed look he answered with a crooked smile, “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. But this pain, this fear that now seems an undefeatable enemy, is what will make you stronger in the end. The point is, only you get to decide what strength means to you. It could be facing your attacker in a trial or being able to kick someone's ass, maybe even becoming the next MMA champion. Either the case, you _are_ strong, Bulma. More than you imagine.”  

 

She felt her breath catch, basking in Vegeta’s reassuring words. She believed him, she wanted to, with all herself. But one last self-deprecating thought wormed its way into her mind like a disease.

 

“What if I never feel like myself again?” she asked, voice trembling. “What if I'm stuck with this anxiety and fear, never moving on?”

 

His hand, still trapped beneath her fingers, squeezed hers. “Then I have bad news for you. Things will never be the same,” Vegeta admitted with a sigh. 

 

He was not a man used to sugar-coating reality, not even for her. Bulma was grateful for that. Even if it hurt. 

 

“You can’t simply move on from things like these,” Vegeta continued. “But you will move forward, one step a time. I promise.”

 

With a trembling sigh, Bulma let her head drop on his shoulder, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Remembering herself, she started to back off, but Vegeta’s hand rested on her nape, keeping her close. 

 

“Stay. I don’t mind.”

 

So, she leaned on him once more, relishing the warmth of his hand on her head and the roughness of his knuckles under her fingers, his presence alone a tangible rock she could rely on.

 

Her gaze dropped to their hands, still intertwined. It was so strange, she thought, recalling the gentle way he had handled her just minutes before. Those calloused hands were capable of such violence as well as unexpected tenderness. 

 

Yet, even with their rough and worn out look, she knew with painstaking clarity that his hands could keep up the weight of the whole world. Maybe even her own. 

 

Vegeta was simply there for her, with his own contradictions and wounds, his presence comforting and inspiring, in a way. 

 

She just hoped she could be there for him in the same way, in times of need. 

 

*

  


It took just one day for news about the trial to spread worldwide. It was everywhere.

 

Bulma hurried down the street, disguised in a cap and large sunglasses. Her mom had suggested skipping her training to avoid the paparazzi, but death was preferable to locking herself at home like she was the one in custody, awaiting trial.

 

Over her dead and cold corpse.

 

Every corner, it seemed, displayed headlines along with pilfered photos of her, many of which had been taken during her late teens years when she was partying and going to clubs almost every night. She took a moment to read a very nasty article about her apparently scandalous habits, only to rip the newspaper apart under the shocked stares of some bystanders.

 

She needed training. She needed a distraction. But, most of all, she desperately needed to vent her rage. Because the last thing she needed was a headline about her beating the crap out of someone, and she was a hot second from it.

 

In the motion of dumping the periodical in a bin, another headline caught her eye. The National MMA tournament was back in town and would take place at the sports arena in a month. 

 

Bulma read the article twice to be sure, then shoved the newspaper page in her pocket and started running towards the gym, rage over her situation soon forgotten. 

 

As soon as she was changed and ready to start her lesson, she marched up to Vegeta. Skipping greetings and small talk, she slammed the crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

 

His brow arched elegantly as he unfolded her mysterious gift, then his expression changed like weather, going from surprised to thunderous in less than a second.

 

“No,” he growled, nearly reducing the piece of paper into dust with his iron grip. 

 

“You didn’t even let me-”

 

“Absolutely no.” 

 

“But it’s a sign!” Bulma gasped, excited. “It’s the first time the tournament will be staged here in Capital City...”

 

“I couldn’t care less,” he retorted, whipping around with a snarl. “And this is none of your business!”

 

Bulma stepped back as if slapped, the sting so vivid that she nearly brought a hand to her cheek.

 

“Sorry, I thought it was,” she whispered, trying not to sound as hurt as she truly was. She turned and occupied herself in arranging her hand wraps.

 

She had just been trying to help in the same way he had supported her the other night and during the last few weeks. 

 

After a while, she heard him sigh. Suddenly Vegeta was behind her, his murmur barely discernible. “I didn’t mean…”

 

His hand lingered over her shoulder, but Bulma turned before it could touch the skin there.

“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know and I got a little excited. You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone else, really…”

 

She took her fighting stance, but Vegeta didn’t move, his black eyes almost burning her with their intensity. 

 

Finally, his shoulder relaxed, and a smirk curved his lips, making her think the worst. 

 

“Let’s settle this with a fight.”

 

For a moment she simply stood there, watching him as if he had suddenly grown a tail or something, but Vegeta didn’t hesitate to further explain his proposal.

 

“If you manage to land a single hit on me in 5 minutes, I’ll enroll in the tournament. I’ll just defend myself without hitting back, of course...”

 

Oh, so he _was_ serious. 

 

Bulma sized him up, assessing the challenge, simultaneously trying to make him squirm under her scrutiny. Not a chance, but she could always try.

 

“That’s stupid,” she said, ignoring his smug smirk. “You can’t make this kind of decision based on the result of a match!” 

 

But, Bulma wasn’t letting this chance go without - ironically - a fight. 

 

“One question,” she added just when he was about to retort. “If I manage to hit you once, you’ll answer a question of mine honestly. We can start with that. Deal?”

 

She outstretched her hand, and Vegeta looked at it with a mix of derision and distrust, probably working to figure out her strategy. After a minute of pondering, his rough fingers reached out and squeezed her own. 

 

“Let’s get this farce over with. I have to train,” he scoffed. He slipped the training pads over his hands and forearms.

 

He positioned himself in the center of the mat, legs spread and grounded, an arm bent before him to deflect and the other loose at his side, ready to strike. 

 

Bulma rolled her shoulders back and assumed her fighting stance. She began by circling him, searching for an opening, a chance, literally anything that could grant a semblance of weakness.

 

As she launched at him with a series of jabs and hooks it became apparent how the quarrel would end. Vegeta didn’t even break a sweat as he dodged and parried every single blow she threw at him. 

 

Bulma eyed the clock on the wall, frustration getting the best of her, and seeping through her hurried pace.

 

“Calm down,” Vegeta said, blocking a sharp kick. “If you lose your patience, you’ll only waste energy.”

 

She hated when he was right. She tried something different, drawing close enough to shoot in for a takedown, but Vegeta simply shifted to the side, avoiding her.

 

In that moment, however, something made her pause. She repeated the same move, closing the distance once again to dive in. The hit never landed, but that something happened again. 

 

For just a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his body shifting just a tad slower than usual.

Could it be…?

 

As she circled him again, Bulma assessed the situation and her chances. 

 

Vegeta seemed unaffected as usual, maybe even bored, but she had learned to decipher even the smallest shifts of his expressions. Like the way his ears had reddened when she had drawn closer to him, or the infinitesimal drop of his eyes to her cleavage during her previous attacks. Interesting.

 

Maybe it wasn’t a weakness, but she had to make the most of what she got. She mentally congratulated herself for choosing to wear only her sports bra and a pair of tight leggings that day, as she conjured a new strategy.

 

Seconds ticked by, only one minute left. 

 

Bulma took a deep breath, diving in once more, using a three-punch combo as an excuse to push herself in Vegeta’s personal space, her body so close that almost leaned into his own. 

 

With the excuse of a grapple, she took a handful of his shirt and literally shoved his head in her cleavage, exploiting his moment of embarrassed surprise to sweep his leg and tackle him down.

 

That was her chance.

 

The taste of victory was already in her mouth as she threw one last punch at him while he was on the ground, but before her fist could collide with his shoulder, Vegeta shoved her off, making her little body fly to the other side of the mat with a very graceless shriek. 

 

“Shit! Are you ok?” he said, hurrying to her side.

 

“Cheater! You said you wouldn’t strike back!” she growled, rolling around and catching her breath. As soon as he realized she wasn’t hurt, Vegeta crossed his arms defensively in front of him.

 

“You were the one using dirty tricks, woman!” he barked, a red rushing his cheeks. 

 

“But it worked, didn’t it?” she grinned, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively and making him blush even more.

 

Five minutes had already passed, but Bulma didn’t care, basking in her own satisfaction.

She had forced him to break his promise and strike back, and she knew that was the closest thing to victory she could get.

 

After a while, Vegeta sighed and handed her the water bottle as a reluctant peace offering. 

 

“Spit it out, before I change my mind…”

 

She almost squealed in happiness, ignoring his frustrated glare the whole time.  

 

“Ok, so,” she deliberated, after taking a couple of swigs. “How did you end up managing a gym with Goku, of all people?”

 

Vegeta spared her an incredulous look.

 

“Why do you want to know that?”

 

“Just answer the question!”

 

She let him boil in his own outrage and discomfort, finding his little tantrum quite amusing.

 

Finally, Vegeta shook his head. “It was after I recovered from…”

 

He didn’t need to complete the sentence, his tale from the other night still vivid in her memory. 

 

“No one wanted to have anything to do with me after that. No sports club, nor bigger organizations. Kakarott was the only one still there for me when I woke up. We had met during one of the legal MMA tournaments. Even if he always managed to win against me, he said I was the best opponent he had ever met. So that’s probably why he asked me to join his little gym project, some years ago…”

 

Bulma smiled to herself. It sounded like a very _Goku-ish_ thing to do: caring for someone going through very tough times. After a while she frowned, her friend’s unfamiliar name still ringing in her ears. 

 

“Wait, why do you always call him like that? Kakar… _Kaka-_ something?”

 

“That’s more than one question,” Vegeta protested, earning a sharp kick in the shin from her.

 

“It was his fighter name,” he conceded, giving in a lot easier than she expected. “Don't ask me what it means: it’s as stupid as it sounds.”

 

“What was your fighting name?” she couldn’t refrain from asking next.

 

The nasty look he gave her spurned her curiosity even more, much for his irritation. 

 

“I’m not answering that one. Ever.”

 

But she bugged him without mercy, whining and pouting until he capitulated with a pained sigh.

 

“It was... _The Prince_...”

 

The slight blush on his cheek, as well as the miserable way he looked while uttering those two words, made her double over in laughter. Bulma rolled on the mat, holding her belly and trying to breathe, her ribs actually hurting in a good way after so much time. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard and without inhibitions.

 

Vegeta scoffed in outrage, launching his training pads away.

 

“I'll take a break since you're not taking this seriously anymore…”

 

She grabbed the hem of his pants, panting and trembling through the last of the giggles.

 

"No, wait... I'm-I'm done I swear... just give me one second..."

 

She flipped on her back, taking a deep breath to calm down. When she looked up at him, his expression was unreadable.

 

Bulma smiled and his eye twitched.

 

"I don't remember when was the last time I laughed so hard,” she heard herself say.

 

Vegeta observed her for a long time, then sat beside her on the mat. 

 

She loved those moments of comfortable silence between them when everything seemed fine with the world, even if for just one minute. 

 

"Thanks," she finally said, eyes trailing across the bare ceiling, the vent system, literally anything that wasn't him. "I needed that."

 

She felt him shrug beside her. 

 

She found herself already familiar with his grunts-and-shrugs language. That one meant something along the line of "Anytime".

 

It made her want to do something for him, to show him how much that moment really meant to her.

 

“Seriously though,” Bulma murmured. “I think this time, at the tournament, it will be different.”

 

Vegeta's doubtful look washed over her, making her cringe in self-consciousness.

 

“And how’s that?”

 

“Well, this time Goku will be there, for instance,” she reasoned, leaning up on her elbows to meet his gaze. “From what I understand, you never managed to beat him. This could be your chance.”

 

She didn’t let him avert his gaze, adding as an afterthought, “Something to look forward to.”

 

His eyes flashed with determination, and the corners of his mouth curled against his will.

 

The way anticipation suited him made her heart clench. 

 

She'd never known victory could taste so sweet. 

 

 

***

 

Another groundbreaking piece of art by [Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) that actually made me cry... ç___ç

 

 

 

 


	5. Someone special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His heart thrummed fast under her fingertips and something in her chest answered the silent call, a flutter between the second and third rib on the left. 
> 
> Seconds stretched as his words fully sunk in. 
> 
> How hadn’t she seen it coming?
> 
>  
> 
> Sondtrack: Miracles (Someone special) - Coldplay; The only exception - Paramore; Maybe - Isbells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready for some FLUFF??? xD
> 
> Because Bulma is a badass and Vegeta is a tough guy, but even them need some sweet sweet moments, don't you think? <3
> 
> Guys, I'm so sorry for the waiting. I can't thank you enough for your constant support and wonderful comments. <3  
> At the end of the chapter you'll find one of the wonderful illustration from [Rutbisbe's](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) fancomic.   
> As always, my deepest gratitude to [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L), my amazing beta-reader.

 

 

_35 days after the aggression_

 

 

Bulma had just started warming up on the treadmill when a sudden racket drew her and the other customers to the gym's entrance.  

 

There stood Vegeta and Goku, facing off against man wearing a smug, obnoxious grin.

 

The tension was thick, and it was clear that the stranger was eager to start trouble. 

 

"C'mon Jeice, I already told you to leave," Goku said, shifting subtly to place his body between the man and Vegeta. "We don't want any trouble here."

 

But Jeice ignored him, his arrogant smirk aimed solely at the smaller man.

 

"So what, Vegeta," he said, glaring with disdain, "you letting someone else fight your battles for you again? Step out and settle this like a man!  _ If _ you're a man, that is..."

 

Vegeta wasn't reacting. He was perfectly still, face etched in stone and arms tightly crossed over his chest as always. But, Bulma could discern the myriad tiny tells that bellied the effort exerted in keeping up the facade. The pulsing vein on his forehead. The way his hands clenched around his arms as if they alone were stopping him from ramming a fist through the shitstain's face. 

 

People started whispering around Bulma, the other customers gathering silently around the three men to spectate.

 

Jeice laughed and searched the curious gazes of his growing audience, pausing like a consumed actor before reciting his line.

 

"You'll end up knocked out and trembling on the ring under Zarbon's heel, like the last time. What a shame, really..."

 

Suddenly it was clear to her why Jeice was there. He wanted to make Vegeta and Goku look bad in front of their customers, forcing them to keep face by engaging in a fight neither of them could afford.

 

The matter had to be handled in a different way. And Bulma knew exactly how.

 

“Wait, you're Jeice right?" she asked with fake awe as she joined the tensed trio.

 

After a brief moment of surprise, the man smirked, puffing his chest like a vain peacock. 

“That's right, babe. The one and only! It's good to see someone in this cruddy gym can recognize a real fighter.”

 

“Oh, I remember you…” Bulma purred. 

 

And she really did, courtesy of her photographic memory. The last tournament scoreboard flashed before her eyes, Jeice's name right where she remembered it to be. At the bottom of the classification.

 

She dismissed Goku attempts to stop her with a glare and stepped closer to Jeice, swaying her hips. 

 

The man checked her out from head to toe with hungry eyes, but all she registered was the heat of Vegeta’s gaze, following her every move. 

 

Ignoring Jeice's arrogant smirk, she squared her shoulders and planted her feet on the ground, ready to defend herself in case things went south. She went right for the sweet spot. 

 

“I remember you barely made it through the quarter semifinals at the last tournament,” she said, dissecting Jeice with an icy glare. “I remember you lost to a mere boy. You were down in one round, am I correct?”

 

Jeice paled, the truth of it draining color and arrogance from his face.

 

“What-?”

 

“Tell me,” Bulma added, ignoring his stuttering, and going in for the kill, her tongue quicker than any jab. “What does it feel to be Zarbon's dog? Did your master send you here to bark and whine like a puppy? Because that's the only thing you are good at, apparently."

 

Giggles and murmuring erupted behind her back and Jeice looked around in a panic, humiliation making him lose his composure and boisterous attitude, watching his original plan turned on its metaphorical head.

 

“You bitch…” he muttered in a last ditch attempt to turn the tables and salvage the vestiges of his savaged ego. Still, he unconsciously took a step back.

 

Bulma shrugged, pausing dramatically as she sprinkled insult on injury.

“Sorry, but I can't hear you. This gym doesn't allow dogs on the premises.”

 

She turned heel with a haughty flick of her hair, and the little crowd of customers gathered cheered and laughed, chorusing Jeice's hurried retreat with loud boos and hollers.

 

As soon as his figure disappeared behind the gym door, everyone returned to their training. Bulma turned her attention to her coaches, ready for a well-deserved moment of glory. 

 

Goku was the first to hug her, his powerful grip nearly choking her. "You told him, Bulma! Man, you were so cool… I didn't even remember that Jeice did so poorly on the last tournament."

 

As she extricated herself from her friend's embrace, Bulma's gaze landed on Vegeta.

He was giving them his back, his whole body shaking and jolting visibly.

 

Bulma was instantly at his side, worry gnawing at her gut. "Vegeta, are you ok?" she asked breathlessly, as she grabbed his arm in an attempt to make him face her.

 

"I'm fine woman, leave me alone-" His reply cutoff in a snort, as he tried in vain to avoid her attentions.

 

With some maneuvering, Bulma managed a glimpse of his expression, and was left aghast.

 

Vegeta was choking back laughter.

 

Even if he tried to cover his flustered face with his hand, he couldn't contain the occasional snorts and chuckles that escaped his throat.

 

Bulma couldn't help but gawk. She had never seen him laugh. Smirk sure, some vicious grins while fighting, a crooked smile here and there, maybe. 

 

But  _ laugh _ until his eyes watered? Never even imagined the phenomenon.

 

Her lips curved in an amazed smile, and she was about to say something when Vegeta grabbed her wrist and dragged her towards the practicing mat, trying to mask his fading giggles with a fake cough.

 

As they reached their spot, he cleared his voice as if nothing had happened.

 

"In position," he ordered, face still slightly red.

 

Bulma crossed her arms, defying him with a raised brow.

 

"You were laughing..." she pointed out, her voice still tinged with disbelief. His eyes narrowed dangerously. 

 

"I don't laugh. In position," Vegeta growled. 

 

"Yes, you do! I saw it."

 

"Something got stuck in my throat. End of the story."

 

His fervent denial only made Bulma giggle more, to the point her cheeks ached.

 

"That's a pity. You're cute when you smile…"

 

She was still trying to understand where that last sentence came from, when a finger suddenly found its way onto her mouth, the rough pad of Vegeta's index tracing absentmindedly her lips before retreating. She met his gaze and held it, unaware how much they'd managed to shrink the space between them. 

 

Vegeta's eyes were serious and dark, but the corner of his mouth still twitched rebelliously. 

His intense gaze spoke volumes and Bulma was taken aback by how easily she could parse each meaning, from " _ this is the best thing that happened to me in months _ " to " _ please, don't tell anyone _ ". And, at the tail-end - a flash so sudden and swift she almost missed it - " _ thank you for having my back _ ".

 

Bulma took a step back, giving him - and herself - some space. They watched one another for a long time because Vegeta's silence always said more than his words.

 

"You're welcome," Bulma whispered, finally assuming her fighting stance on the mat.

His teeth flashed in the dim light of the gym, as he prepared to strike.

That one was  _ definitely _ a smile.

 

*

 

Bulma was fairly familiar with mirrors. In fact, she had spent most of her youth preening and pampering herself before one. Her appearance had always been her most prominent trait, as it was readily notable, unlike her genius or prowess with mechanics. 

 

Since the assault, however, she had subconsciously avoided reflective surfaces, which seemed to showcase nothing but purple bruises, swelling scars and a half-shaved hair.

 

But as her hair grew back and the wounds marring her skin slowly faded, she had found the courage to observe herself in the mirror and ask her mother to cut her hair short. 

 

With her blue tresses styled into an asymmetrical hairstyle, she was finally starting to recognize the woman in the mirror. Her eyes were no longer void and lifeless, held no trace of the haunted look she had worn for so long after the attack. 

 

When her mom had finished, a woman with a short bob looked at her curiously, a faint smile growing on her lips. Her reflection finally started to resemble its owner. 

 

That same afternoon, in the gym, as she warmed up doing some squats, her gaze lapsed once again to the floor to ceiling mirror dominating one wall of the main hall. 

 

Her eyes followed the hourglass-shaped contours of her body, but where once were only supple softness, a hint of muscles flexed underneath, defining her curves and reflecting the inner strength she felt blossoming.

 

As she observed herself better in the mirror, ignoring for once her fading bruises, she noted her whole body was indeed more toned and lean, after nearly two months of training. She turned and looked back, failing to restrain a shit-eating grin. Her ass looked  _ fabulous _ .

 

As she assessed her progress further, something else caught her attention on the mirror. 

Behind her stood Vegeta, watching her with his mouth slightly open and jaw slack.

 

“Here you are! I’m ready for our training,” she greeted him, turning to join him. 

 

His face changed color at least three times, settling for a deep shade of crimson that reached his ears, as she closed the distance.

 

Bulma tilted her head, her brow arching inquisitively at his silent inspection.

 

“Do I have something on my face?” she asked, checking once again in the mirror.

 

Vegeta finally seemed to regain his usual frown, shaking his head as if trying to rid it of unwelcome thoughts.

 

“You… You are different,” he rasped, clearing his voice. 

 

Buma smiled, rolling her eyes.

 

“How observant! Yes, I cut my hair,” she said, as a sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over her.

 

“Do I look strange or ugly?” she added, tucking a strand behind her ear sheepishly.

 

She could hear him swallow.

 

“You-I…”

 

Vegeta’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to turn around and stutter.

 

“It’s the same as always.”

 

Bulma knew Vegeta wasn’t a man given to praise. But his answer was the closest thing to a compliment she had ever heard from him, and it made her heart flip in her chest in a very strange way.

 

As he marched towards the practice mat muttering to himself, she followed, a beaming smile spreading on her face to mirror the soft blush reaching his ears.

  
  


*

 

The following day, Bulma came to the gym a bit earlier than usual, eager to practice some mild katas while she waited for her lesson with Vegeta to start. But when she entered the still empty main hall, both her friends were already there.

 

Goku and Vegeta were sparring on the main ring, both shirtless and wearing just a pair of shorts. They didn’t wear helmets, but at least their hands and feet were wrapped in fighting bands. 

 

Without realizing it, Bulma found herself mesmerized by their moves. It was like a dance - a very violent and crude dance - where every kick and punch drew lines and complex tangles of limbs, their bodies intertwining and moving with a strangely alluring mix of grace and brutality. 

 

Seeing them fight so vehemently, made her realize there was indeed a big difference between the way they were moving on the ring. 

 

Goku’s fighting style was somehow harmonious, at times playful, even when he was on the losing end. Vegeta, on the other hand… 

 

He fought with everything he had, each hit as violent and brutal as if it embodied a real desire to kill. His focus was sharp and unwavering, every movement the result of concentration and instant strategy. He moved faster than Goku, often taking him off guard, using his speed and slighter height to his advantage, as he had taught her some time ago. 

 

It was enthralling to watch. And, maybe, it had a little bit to do with the way some treacherous drops of sweat glided down all those sculpted muscles and dips…

 

Bulma didn't realize she had been ogling until Vegeta noticed her, startling her with his piercing stare. 

 

Exploiting the brief diversion, Goku managed to land a hit on him, his fist colliding with Vegeta’s jaw, as a cry of victory erupted from his lips.

 

“Vegeta, it’s not like you to be distracted like that!” Goku laughed, before finally spotting her. “Oh hey, Bulma! You’re here earl _ -ooohf _ !” 

 

Her friend doubled over as Vegeta’s punch dug into his middle.

 

“You were saying, Kakarott?” he smirked, licking a drop of blood trailing from his lips.

 

Bulma rolled her eyes, even if she couldn’t stifle a smile of fondness for the two of them.

As she approached the ring, Vegeta grabbed Goku’s hand and pulled him not at all gently to his feet, his bloody lips curled in a carefree smile that made her pause in her tracks.  

 

“I have great news, Bulma!” Goku beamed at her, as he climbed down the ring. “Vegeta’s gonna participate in the next tournament!”

 

“What a surprise…” she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

 

“Shut your mouth, Kakarott! It’s not something you can shout from the rooftops!” Vegeta barked, jumping down the ring and looking as if he could murder his own partner on the spot.

 

As Goku scurried away laughing, she dared to rest a soothing hand on Vegeta's shoulder.

He stopped in his tracks, his frown slowly melting into something softer, as his gaze landed on her and quickly darted away in embarrassment. 

 

“What made you change your mind about the tournament?” she pushed on, lips stretched in a smug grin. 

 

He scoffed, shrugging off her hand and crossing his arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. It has nothing to do with our sparring session.”

 

“Obviously…” Bulma chuckled. “So, when’s the big day?”

 

He grabbed a bottle of water while drying himself nonchalantly with his towel.

 

“Nearly three weeks from now. I enrolled at the cutoff…”

 

“Can I come to see you fight?”

 

Her question caught him off guard, if his dumbfounded expression and the way the bottle nearly slipped from his fingers were of any indication.

 

“Why would you want to…” he started to ask, then thought better of it and tried to recompose his features into the usual frown. “It's a pointless question. You’ll do whatever you want, anyway.”

 

“True.” she conceded, adding as an afterthought. “And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

It had come out so naturally, but she meant every word. Participating at the tournament was a big step for Vegeta, even if he would never admit it. And it was only natural for her to want to support him, especially after what had been shared between them.

 

Yet, he watched her as if she had just turned into an alien, looking equally surprised, embarrassed and flattered, and something more she couldn’t define yet. 

 

Either way, Vegeta remained silent, his intense gaze tickling her back as she headed to the locker room to change. 

 

After nearly an hour of training, however, it was becoming clear that Vegeta was acting strange. The more they sparred, the more she noticed it.

 

He didn’t spare her the usual witty remarks and reproaches, and his movements were slower and more careless than usual, his concentration wavering occasionally. 

 

At the same time, there was something fierce and unknown in his eyes, something different from the sharp and calculating looks he reserved for their fights. 

 

She could get a glimpse of it every time she caught him watching her, but it was gone before she could figure it out. 

 

All these details, however, didn’t change the outcome of their sparring, which ended with her slamming on the practice mat for the fifth time that afternoon. 

 

As she panted and threaded a hand through her sweaty locks, Vegeta towered over her, an arrogant smirk curling his lips and making her want to slap him senseless.

 

Suddenly, Bulma had an idea. She outstretched her hand, silently asking him to help her stand.

 

Vegeta lifted one eyebrow, but he reached for her nonetheless. 

 

As soon as he was close enough, Bulma swept her leg behind his ankle and exploited his momentum of precarious balance to trip him.

 

As soon as Vegeta's back hit the mat she was on him, straddling his legs and pressing her forearm an inch down his neck. 

 

The dumbfounded look he displayed suited him and it was her turn to smirk down on him.

 

“Hey,  _ coach _ ,” she teased as she sat up, leaning on his broad chest for leverage. “Goku was right, you really are distracted today. How come you didn’t see it coming?”

 

Vegeta watched her, his demeanor strangely quiet and unreadable. 

 

She tilted her head, waiting. The air was charged with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

 

“As a matter of fact,” he finally croaked, meeting her gaze, “ _ you _ distract me. A lot.”

 

His heart thrummed fast under her fingertips and something in her chest answered the silent call, a flutter between the second and third rib on the left. 

 

Seconds stretched as his words fully sunk in. 

 

How hadn’t _ she  _ seen it coming?

 

It was right there, had always been there. 

 

In the quietness of their training, in the detached but understanding way he treated her, in their bickering, in the unexpected laughter. It had planted its roots in her tears as well as in the fragment of his past he had shared with her the night of her breakdown. 

 

It was so obvious, she wanted to smack herself. Had she been so self-absorbed and sealed up against the world she had missed all the signs.

 

Vegeta sat up slowly, leaning on his elbows. Bulma’s eyes remained glued to her hand, her fingers clutching the stretching fabric of his shirt, just over his heart. 

 

She looked up when the warmth of his breath bounced on her face and lips. 

 

Vegeta’s eyes were so open, something unknown and exciting glowing in their depth. Bulma had never seen him so vulnerable and unsure.

 

He paused, their noses barely touching, as his thumb traced soothing circles on her knee.

 

Bulma waited, holding her breath, but he didn’t budge. 

 

It occurred to her, a bunch of seconds later, he was giving her a choice. 

 

Her brain spun, making her almost dizzy. 

 

Was it wrong to want this so much, after everything that had happened to her? Was she healed-- was she stable enough? Was she ready? 

 

Something stirred inside her, reaching out and burning in her eyes as Vegeta waited patiently for her response. 

 

Slowly -  _ oh, so slowly _ -  his hand rose and swept back the short locks covering her face. His thumb skimmed her cheek absentmindedly, wiping away a traitorous tear with all the clumsy gentleness he possessed, and she  _ knew _ the answer. She simply knew.

 

Bulma’s eyelashes fluttered, her breath catching in the electrifying contact with his lips, as she closed the distance.

 

 

***

 

This Badass!Bulma and Flustered!Vegeta art by [Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) is simply the best. Who runs the world? GIRLS! 

 

 

 

 


	6. It makes you stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A reminder. Of presence, support. And..."  
> She whispered the final word on his lips, just before kissing him, the tender movement of his mouth on her the best answer she could ask for. They didn't need words, after all.
> 
>  
> 
> Soundtrack: Times like these - Foo Fighters; Please don’t stop - Carina Round; Ain’t no mountain high enough - Marvin Gaye & Tammy Tarell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the final chapter but Rut had a wonderful idea, so prepare for a real treat with the epilogue <3  
> At the end of the chapter, you'll find one of the wonderful illustration from [Rutbisbe's](https://twitter.com/rutisfree) fancomic.  
> And if you fancy a bit of sountrack and/or you're a music nerd like me, you can find the [”If it doesn’t kill you” playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/481MVPnXHI0m9k8QeFMl0C) on Spotify.
> 
> Also, this fic has been nominated for the category "Audience Choice for Drama" in The Prince and The Heiress annual Vegebul award! I'm still squirming and weeping with happiness, so if you want to support it, you have [until Novembre 30th](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfc6duaBsOaVzJz5uVLRm9oRgWz9MtEBP6LauiNGbV32krSFg/viewform) to vote.
> 
> As always thank you so much for your comments and support, and allow me to do a standing ovation for my beta reader [1VulgarWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1VulgarWoman/pseuds/1VulgarWoman)  
> (who wrote a mind-blowing gym Au of her own you have to read RIGHT NOW).
> 
> Come say hi on Twitter! You can find me there as [@MelPearls](https://twitter.com/melpearls)

 

 

_37 days after the attack_

 

There was something sweet and addictive in the way Vegeta kissed her. For instance, he always kissed her out of nowhere, surprising her and making her cherish even more those sudden moments of rough tenderness. 

He was gentle, so gentle it should have disturbed her. But the clumsy yet tender way he slid his lips over hers, sometimes after they had finished their training, sometimes at the door of the gym, wasn't born out of an irrational fear to break or hurt her. Vegeta knew she had and could withstand a lot more than that. 

Yet, his kisses were cautious and a little unsure, with a hint of barely contained excitement towards the end, when his hands had already found their path to her face, burying themselves in her short hair. His lips, incredibly soft, contrasted greatly with the roughness of his manners but were capable of robbing her of her breath and reason for a hot and always too short moment.

Then, in the same unexpected way the kiss had started, it would stop, with Vegeta retreating hurriedly and leaving her panting and dizzy.

It was painfully clear neither of them knew what they were doing, dancing tentatively around each other, assessing one another like opponents in the ring, no one actually finding the courage to make the first move and start the fight for good.

Bulma felt like a teenager again, her heart jumping in her throat every time Vegeta so much as looked in her direction or invaded her personal space. Which happened a lot because of their training, so she ended every session more and more flustered - and frustrated.

A couple of days after their first kiss, she had gathered every ounce of courage she possessed asking him if he wanted to grab a bite at the burger joint in front of the gym, after their training. 

_ There, no way back _ , she had thought, swallowing and watching Vegeta's face change color at least three times before he managed to shrug and nod stiffly.

In the locker room, her hand had shaken a bit as she applied some makeup. 

It was so strange trying to look good for someone that had seen her at her worst, accepting her for what she was, scars, sweat, and bruised ego included. 

But she  _ wanted _ to look good for him.

Sure, his reaction wasn't the one she had anticipated. 

“What's on your face?” Vegeta had asked, as soon as he had seen her, at the door of the gym. 

“It's makeup, you doofus! I wanted to look pretty!”

Slightly disappointed, Bulma was about to add a snarky comment, but soon after he had mumbled, ears red and eyes glued to the tips of his shoes: “You don't need it…”

Three seconds and four muttered words. That was all it took him to make her shift from wanting to slap him to kissing him senseless.

The date - could she call it that? - had gone smoothly from there. 

She sipped her soda in silence, watching him wolf down at least three hamburgers in one go.

“You sure eat a lot,” she smiled, as he reached for his beer.

“And you not nearly enough,” he deadpanned nodding to her barely touched bags of french fries. “Eat, you just finished a two-hour training.” 

His tone invited no argument.

She snorted and took one single fry, just to spite him.

The vein on his forehead pulsed and Bulma answered his scowl with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re impossible!” Vegeta growled, as she laughed and bent forward, dipping another fry into his ketchup. Her tongue darted out to lick at it absentmindedly, but his reaction didn’t escape her gaze, his cheeks redder and his eyes darker with a different kind of hunger.

“Then convince me,” she suggested, feeling lightheaded and bold.

He kissed her right there, licking a drop of ketchup from her chin and lips. Letting her tongue delve into his mouth, she tasted the beer he just had and something else that was purely him.

Yes, Bulma thought, their food going cold and definitely forgotten, there was something sweet and addictive in his kisses.

And she never wanted it to stop. 

_ * _

_ 40 days after the attack _

Bulma Briefs was a woman of science. She believed in tangible and empirical proof but was well aware of the overwhelming power of imagination. Breaking the limits of human knowledge with inventions and new tech had always been her job and her favorite hobby.

But after the aggression, her mind too had just frozen, leaving an unsettling void and silence in her usually buzzing brain. 

Being the aforementioned woman of science she was, Bulma had discarded the matter as a symptom of post-traumatic stress, taking a self-imposed leave from her job and projects. 

A leave that ended abruptly that night, thoughts suddenly mingling and overriding each other like a loud, undisciplined mob. She had woken up at 5 am in a frenzy, nearly running to her lab to get to work. 

It was well past noon, when her mother had thrust a dish full of food in front of her face, that she had woken up from the trance-like state she used to know so well, realizing she had been working for the whole morning and the early afternoon.

She had nibbled absentmindedly at her steak and vegetables, her mind never stopping to draw invisible diagrams and plans in front of her unfocused eyes.

A cup of coffee and a brownie appeared under her nose twice during the afternoon, courtesy of her parents, as she perfected the three projects she was working on at the same time. 

Bulma welcomed the numbing ache of weariness and sleep-deprivation like an old friend. She wasn’t tired. On the contrary, she felt a bit exhilarated, her old life starting gradually to come back like a long-lost memory.

It was nearly evening when the door of her lab opened and her father stepped in, but he wasn’t alone.

“Bulma, dear, how about a break? This young man is here for you…”

She turned, annoyed, ready to cast out Yamcha or some other stranger disturbing her creative stream of consciousness when Vegeta’s frown stripped her of her voice and breath in one go.

“I’ll leave you alone. I think dinner is almost ready…” her father added trotting away, oblivious of the tangible tension he had left in the room. 

Vegeta looked around, pensive, his eyes trailing over the various broken pieces of tech, ripped-apart engines, and scattered blueprints laying on every surface of the lab. 

“So this is what you do…” he mumbled after a moment of silence. 

His gaze landed on her, and his brows furrowed at the sight of her barely eaten lunch and her disheveled appearance. “How long have you been in here, today?”

Bulma tried her best to rearrange her clothes and smooth her ruffled hair, smearing her cheek with grease in the process. 

“Longer than is healthy, I guess…” she confessed, trying to avert his severe glare.

He was suddenly in front of her, his thumb wiping away the stain on her cheek, and Bulma felt her whole face flame under his touch. 

It was strange to see him in the chaos of her lab, but she felt like she could get used to the sight. 

Suddenly, she realized that Vegeta was in her lab because she wasn’t in the gym. 

“Oh my god, I'm sorry! Did we have training together, today?” she rambled. “I was so absorbed in my work that I just lost track of time…”

"No, I..." he interrupted her. "I just wanted to see you. Outside the gym."

Bulma felt her face burn, taken by surprise by his earnest and sweet admission.

What was she doing, blushing like a teenager? She was a grown-up woman, for crying out loud. And she had had her share of boyfriends - one more disastrous than the other - she knew how those things worked. 

But this time was different. Was it Vegeta, gingerly taking her hand and looking, if possible, more nervous than her? Or maybe it was the attack’s fault?

She had felt nothing for so long, her mind and body nearly numb since the aggression, that now even the simplest and smallest emotion was amplified tenfold. 

They both stood uncomfortably blushing and holding hands in the lab until Vegeta grunted, averting his gaze.

“You’re busy. I shouldn’t have bothered you…”

“No, wait! I’m glad you came. I just…” she squeezed his hand, testing the realness of his presence, reminding herself it was just Vegeta.  _ Her  _ Vegeta, now that she thought better of it.

“I wanted to see you too,” she admitted. “It just feels so weird. It’s like I’m learning again how to do this-... this kind of thing. You know, be with someone and stuff…”

She groaned, hiding her face into her palm. 

“Gosh, I’m a mess!”

“Maybe this is not a good idea,” he murmured, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

Bulma gathered her courage and met his gaze. She knew he was giving her a way out, an excuse to back off and save them both the trouble. 

But she couldn’t persuade herself to let go of his hand just yet.

“I don’t care,” she whispered, leaning into him a bit more and cheering in the way his own body gravitated towards hers in response.

“Bulma, dearie, dinner is ready! Oh goodness, am I interrupting something?”

Her mother’s sudden appearance at the door made them both jump out of their skin and put some distance between them.

“Mom!” Bulma seethed. “Have you ever heard of knocking?!”

The woman simply ignored her protests and focused on Vegeta.

“Oh Bulma, don’t be so rude and introduce me to your new friend…”

She felt him tense beside her. Probably not his best moment. 

“He’s Vegeta, my…”

She paused a fraction, exploring the sudden vastness of possibilities unfurl in front of her. She chose to play safe. 

“... my trainer. He works with Goku at the gym.”

Her mother beamed, oblivious of her inner debate.

"Oh dear, It's a relief to see a strong young man beside you, knowing you are safe."

Bulma was about to answer she didn’t need any man to defend her, her mouth already frothing with venom, when Vegeta’s voice resounded in the lab, calm but stern.

"Actually, Bulma is quite capable of fending for herself now, ma’am."

Her mother smiled, for real this time, the mask of forced cheerfulness she wore around Bulma in those days nowhere to be seen. 

"Well, then you absolutely have to stay for dinner. Take it as a thank you for  your hard work with my daughter. What do you say, mister?"

With that, the woman left, not bothering to wait for an answer, and already instructing the kitchen staff to prepare an extra meal.

Bulma groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Sorry for that,” she sighed. “And sorry for… the trainer thing. Well, you are my trainer in a way so…” 

She groaned, defeated.

“Why is this so difficult? It's not like I haven't had a relationship before!”

She paled, realizing the implications of her last words. 

"Wait, I didn't want to imply we're in a relationship or… If that's not what you want I'll underst-"

"NO!"

She watched him turn several shades of red as he realized the amount of vehemence he had put into that simple word.

"No, I want-" Vegeta stuttered, but then thought better of it, mouth shutting with a click. 

Under her scrutiny he shrugged, trying very carefully not to meet her gaze. His eyes wandered once again on the chaos of her lab, without really focusing on anything in particular.

After a while, he sighed and took her hand once again. 

“In a way, this is new for me, too,” he admitted, observing their joined hands intently. 

“I've never met someone like you.”

His hand was warm, his calloused fingertips grazing her skin in a soothing and nearly imperceptible caress. 

“Someone like...?” Bulma asked, pushing herself into his personal space. She was finding it more and more difficult to stay away from him.

Vegeta hid his face in her neck, his hot breath making her shiver. She could see that the tips of his ears were still red.

“Someone… I care for,” he answered in a husky whisper.

_ Someone like me. _

Bulma closed her eyes and let their foreheads touch, turning her head to meet his gaze.

"I'm glad I've met you, too," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth until it turned upwards in one of the secretive smiles he undisclosed just for her.

*

_ 43 days after the attack _

 

For how much she tried to deny it, watching Goku and Vegeta spar was becoming one of her favorite activities. She had unconsciously started to make a habit of coming earlier to the gym, just to have a glimpse of the raw and wild way they threw at each other, secretly enjoying the beauty of two male bodies moving with so much power and grace.

The fight ended with a tie, as was often the case, and both Goku and Vegeta jumped down from the ring panting and teasing each other. 

“Yo, Bulma!” Goku greeted her. “I didn’t know you were here. What do you think, who between us has the best chance of winning the tournament?”

She raised her hands, not wanting to stoke their rivalry further, even if it was quite amusing to see their affectionate quarrels.

“No no, I wanna stay neutral in this.”

Vegeta’s voice rumbled behind her, his tone teasing and cocky.

“She doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, Kakarott. Even a rookie like her can see you stand no chance against me...”

Bulma turned, ready to start another of their verbal spars, but the sight that appeared right in front of her made all her witty remarks die on her tongue. 

Vegeta wiped his chest and neck with a towel, gobbling down his fresh beverage like a starved man. Some water escaped from his lips as he drank, and she tried with all herself not to follow the little rivulet sliding down his corded neck, worming its way down his pecs and abs until it pooled in his belly button. 

“I’ll go change, now!” she croaked, marching towards her locker room at full speed, and praying no one noticed how red her face was.

It took her nearly an hour of training to get rid of that feverish state, but something else lingered in the pit of her stomach, knotting her insides in a strange way every time Vegeta’s body brushed or touched hers, every movement a growing torture that distracted her.

He tackled her, waking her up from her reverie, but as soon as she fell on the mat he took a step back, giving her space, as he always did when she was down. 

Behind the facade of his gruff attitude, Vegeta had always been considerate of her triggers, especially the one involving someone holding her down that had led to her first panic attack. 

But this time something was different. This time the further they fought, the more her body rebelled, a deep and unfamiliar craving threatening her focus. The more he touched her, the more the contact between their bodies became electric. 

She could feel it so clearly, skin buzzing and flushing wherever he touched, her breaths coming out more and more ragged for reasons totally unrelated to the intensity of the training.

After so much time she could feel her body - actually _ feel _ it - for the first time, from the top of her head to her little toe, thrumming with something different than fatigue and tension. 

Bulma had nearly forgotten there was something more other than pain, sweat, and violence, that the contact of skin on skin could feel this good.

She fell on the mat once more, and before Vegeta could get back up she let her hand sneak between them, clutching the collar of his shirt.

"No," she gasped, the word making him halt more than her grip.

" _ No _ what? Are you hurt?" Vegeta inquired, still straddling her, his body more a shield than a weight on her.

Bulma wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder, one of her legs between his own. 

"No, I..." she stuttered, as his hot breath on her cheek made her head swim, not in panic but in a pleasant mix of excitement and anticipation. She wondered if he could feel it too.   


She kissed him, taking him by surprise, once, twice, lips glued at his neck and hungry hands that roamed the big expense of his back. 

Bulma pulled and tightened her embrace until Vegeta gave in, resting more of his weight on her, their bodies and limbs sliding onto each other.   


A soft groan, when she bent her knee between his legs, made her open her eyes.    


Vegeta was blushing furiously, and she had the instant confirmation that what they were doing had a very clear effect on his anatomy. 

She watched him, fascinated with the kaleidoscope of emotions that changed and softened his severe features. He hid in the curve of her neck, his open mouth dragging lazily on her throat.   


"Bulma..." he breathed on her collarbone, the deep and husky tone rumbling through her body like an earthquake.

He rolled to the side, and she followed close like a satellite tied to its moon, trying her best not to glance at the bulge stretching the front of his pants. 

They stayed like that for a long time, panting and watching each other, her head resting on his outstretched arm. 

“Where did you learn to play dirty like that?” he joked, and that gave away his unfamiliar state.

Vegeta never joked unless he was deeply embarrassed or relaxed, two occurrences she had witnessed far too seldom in the almost two months she had known him.

But she wanted to feel and get more of him, more of his rare smiles, more of the proud tilt of his voice when he praised her improvements, more of the gruff yet tender way he held and kissed her. 

Suddenly, she wanted  _ more _ .

“I need a shower,” Bulma said, hoping he wouldn't notice how her voice quivered in anticipation.

“Me too, a cold one…” Vegeta mumbled, closing his eyes and swallowing.

She scooted closer still until their noses and foreheads touched and their breaths mingled once more.

“I have a better idea...”

*

The women’s locker room was empty as she had left it before her training. She and Vegeta were the only two left in the closing gym, Goku already at home with his wife and little kid.

Bulma didn’t let go of Vegeta's hand as she stepped into the shower stall and turned on the faucet.

As the steam from the warm water filled the room, she searched his eyes, finding in them the same mix of thrill and arousal, with a hint of not-so-well-hidden fear.

Her hands smoothed down his chest until they reached the hem of his shirt and pulled it free from the waistband of his shorts. 

Vegeta lifted his arms, letting her drag the fabric over his shoulders and discard it on the floor. 

He met her gaze straight on, pinning her down with the intensity of his dark eyes, before asking

“Are you sure?”

Bulma simply smiled as she took his bigger hands and put them on herself, coaxing him until he understood and her shirt joined his on the floor.

They undressed each other in silence, anticipation increasing with each layer of clothes lost until they stood completely naked and aroused, surrounded by a thick mist that made her hair stick like vines to her temples and throat. 

Suddenly self-conscious under Vegeta’s intense stare, Bulma fought the instinct to cover herself with her arms.

"What are you staring at?" she asked, feeling her cheeks burn in embarrassment in front of the evident reaction of his body. "It's not like you haven't seen everything before…"

The night of her breakdown seemed so distant in her memory, but it still made her cringe, even if for a moment.

Vegeta's hand skimmed her arm, the contact nearly electric, and every nerve of her body stood suddenly alert and thrumming.

It was like her body was coming alive after being frozen and numb for so long, the skin burning and tingling at every touch.

"I had other priorities, that time," he whispered, ears red and hot, as his fingers trailed along the curve of her shoulder and neck, caressing her cheek. "Couldn't properly appreciate the view."

Bulma had always been conscious of her beauty, flirtatious seduction a consistent part of her everyday life, as was the effort she put into pampering her appearance. After the aggression, her body had become a broken item, a malfunctioning instrument that had to be strengthened and fixed, only able to feel pain and fatigue.

But under Vegeta's hands something melted and dissolved, the sensual and carefree side of her finally emerging from the bubble of fear that had kept her true nature crystallized and trapped for so long.

She met Vegeta's eyes, feeling completely bare and vulnerable under his piercing gaze like he could actually see and find her underneath the layers of self-loathing and insecurity.

Still embarrassed under scrutiny, Bulma took his hand and pulled him under the warm water of the shower. With soapy hands she busied herself with cleansing him. She let her fingers slide from one hard muscle to the other, tracing his strong spine, the scars on his arms, and the wide plane of his chest, rising more and more rapidly in sync with his increasing breathing. 

His abs tensed as her touches trailed down the dark patch of hair hat led south from his navel, his cock twitching against her hip. 

Feeling bolder, Bulma touched him, her fingers closing around his shaft and moving upward, a simple touch that ripped a throaty groan from his lips.

She watched, mesmerized, the way pleasure made his features change under her heated caresses, from his barely restrained hisses and moans to the way his eyes lost focus and fluttered closed, against his struggles.

She kissed the corner of his mouth and licked a drop of water from his neck, feeling his whole body shudder and his cock pulse between her fingers, until his bigger hand closed on her wrist, stopping her ministrations.

"Wait!" he panted.

She let him rest his forehead on her own, as he tried to even out his ragged breaths. 

“Wait..." Vegeta repeated, words rippling on her lips before he captured them with his own. His deep and hungry kiss left her dizzy and disoriented, so much that she didn't remember how she ended up with her back to the tiled wall and Vegeta's hand between her legs.

His fingers moved with care, drawing slow and tortuous circles around her clit and wet lips until her whole body pulsed with need. 

Vegeta’s mouth wandered over her face and neck, kissing, suckling and licking here and there until he dragged his teeth on her shoulder and she felt him shift. 

His fingers left her and she nearly cried in frustration but his mouth continued south, nipping at her breast, tongue circling a nipple and following the drops of water trailing down her body.

She watched him kneel in front of her, kissing briefly the drain scar on her abdomen while he dragged one of her thighs onto his shoulder.

Her head lolled backward, bumping the tiled wall as he buried his face between her legs, his mouth hotter than the scorching water cascading over them.

Bulma tried to find something to hold on to, fingers sliding on the tiles as he proceeded to make her come apart with his mouth, the world spinning endlessly around her in a vertiginous kaleidoscope. 

His dark gaze never left her, growing darker and hungrier with every throaty moan and gasp she couldn't restrain, until he thrust two fingers inside her and all the tension coiled in her abdomen snapped. 

The pleasure was blinding, an electric shock that made her jolt from the wall and bury her hand in his hair, grinding into his mouth and tongue as she cried and spasmed around his fingers. 

Her legs shook as he lazily licked and kissed her folds one last time.

"I-I can't… stand…" she panted, feeling herself falling down. 

Vegeta rose to his feet, swiping her up in one effortless movement.

"I got you," he whispered hotly on her face, as Bulma's legs closed around his hips and back. She felt him lick something from her cheek, and when he kissed her she could taste herself and the salty remains of tears in his mouth.  

His cock twitched, furrowed between the wet lips of her cunt. They both bit back a moan as he pinned her on the wall a bit more forcefully.

"Bulma…" he groaned in her ear, pleading for her to let him find solace inside her. She nodded hotly, her teeth dragging on his neck as he thrust and finally entered her with a broken moan.

They both stilled for a moment, their ragged breath and the running water the only sounds around them. Bulma searched blindly for his lips, switching between fumbling kisses and hungry nips until she couldn’t tell them apart.

Then Vegeta moved, and she whimpered into his mouth, her eyes closing on their own accord as pleasure thrummed and bubbled up again inside her. 

He set an unforgiving rhythm, his groans and ragged breaths becoming louder by the minute as his grip on her thighs and ass tightened on the verge of pain. She didn't mind the new bruises, for this time they were born from pleasure. 

Bulma couldn't do much more than hold him tight, climbing once again the pulsing path towards bliss.

Suddenly she felt Vegeta's hand on her cheek, the touch so delicate it contrasted greatly with his movements and character. He brushed away a wet strand of hair from her face, his nose brushing tenderly hers.

"Look at me," he whispered into her mouth, as their foreheads touched. 

She did, her eyelids lifting heavily. 

His eyes were so dark, completely open for her to see, and she nearly drowned in the intense emotions that shone in their depths.

She came like that, gaze lost in his own, as he swallowed her cries and stuttering pieces of his name. 

Her bones turned into liquid heat as her whole body glowed, pulsed, burst into a million pieces between Vegeta's hands, his tight grip the only thing keeping her whole.   


As her orgasm ebbed, Bulma whispered incoherent words of sweet encouragement in his ear, until she felt his whole body shudder, and he muffled a long and throaty groan into the crook of her neck.   


His legs buckled as he leaned even more into her, but she wasn't afraid to stumble down. She knew that Vegeta would never let her fall.

As they both descended from the height of their pleasure, Bulma let her legs slide along his sides, until her feet touched the ground once again. 

But Vegeta didn’t let go of her, pulling her under the water again for another soul-licking kiss that made her heart take a leap inside her chest. As she tried to recompose herself, he reached for the soap, washing her whole body with precise care. 

She hummed in bliss, reduced to a giddy puddle, as his big hands massaged her scalp and swiped the foam away from her eyes. 

As Vegeta rinsed her, the water and his touches washing away any worries and doubts, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his, a sated sigh escaping her lips.

Vegeta turned off the water but before he could reach for a towel, Bulma grinned and pinched his ass, making him jump.

“Sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

She wasn’t surprised to feel a stinging smack on the rounder and softer part of her butt, as she turned around to leave the shower.

Vegeta grinned at her, the sight still managing to make her breath catch in her throat.

“I could say the same,” he confessed, hurrying his pace to avoid her inevitable retaliation. 

Their laughter resounded in the empty hall of the gym, no one there to witness the crumbling of their walls and defenses. 

*

_ 47 days after the attack _

Vegeta's apartment was exactly as she had imagined it: obsessively tidy and bare of every non-essential item. It suited him, Bulma thought the first time she had stepped in with him, a few days after they had dinner with her parents. 

But now that she was a bit more familiar with waking up beside him on his nearly military bed and watching movies on his pristine screen, she ached to mess it up a bit, to make it look like someone actually lived there. 

She was doing a wonderful job, given the soft growl Vegeta let out as she ripped a bag of chips open on his couch, breaking at least three of his rules in one go.

Bulma looked at him, raising a defiant eyebrow as she deliberately chewed a mouthful of trash food. 

Vegeta sighed - he was more and more lenient, a side effect of her new favorite hobby that fell under the name of "Wearing Vegeta Down".

"Could you at least try not to make all the crumbs fall on the couch?" he asked, rubbing his forehead in frustration. 

She smiled, beaming at the nearly invisible hint of fondness that softened his voice.

"No, but I will make amends by bribing you with a gift," she chuckled, handing him the bag as a peace offering as she flickered through the channels of the tv.

It was his turn to raise one doubtful eyebrow.

"With  _ my _ food?" He growled, snatching the bag from her hand and making a pile of crumbs spill directly onto the floor. She laughed at his dismayed expression, and he tackled her down between the cushions in response, muffling her giggles with hungry kisses.

"I'll make you pay for that," his voice rumbled through her throat, making her shiver in anticipation. But as much as she wanted to move the fight to the bedroom, she had something to do first.

Bulma pushed him softly off of her while leaving an apologizing kiss on his forehead for good measure.

"I really have a gift for you," she said in light of his interrogative look. 

When he didn't answer, Bulma got up and reached for her duffle bag, still abandoned by the door, where she had left it when the had come back from the gym. 

She retrieved a package from it and handed it to Vegeta, clenching and unclenching her hands in nervousness as he opened it.

The sight of a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and boxing gloves, all branded with the Capsule Corp logo, made him gasp.

"Capsule Corp will support you in the next tournament. As the new sponsor of the Sayan gym, of course," she added, afraid that he could misinterpret the gift for some kind of favoritism or pity, something she knew he loathed.   
Vegeta remained silent, eyeing the clothes with a mix of awe and something she couldn't define yet. When he got up, she swallowed and started to ramble, the fear of rejection stinging in her eyes.

"If you don't want to wear them, there's no problem, I mean-"   
"Why are you doing this?"

His voice came out as a frail whisper, and from the shocked expression on his face, she knew he was truly confused. That made her wonder how few acts of kindness and selfless affection he had actually received through all his life. 

Bulma took a step forward, positioning herself right in front of him. Her hand hovered on his chest, just over his heart, its rapid beating grounding her in the moment.

"To say thank you, and..."   


She hugged him, burying her face in the crook of his neck to inhale deeply his musky and soothing scent.    


"To be for you what you've been and currently are for me."   


She sighed when his arms finally closed around her, squeezing her tightly.   


"What, a giant pain in the ass?" he joked, but his voice came out hoarse and thin.   


"No," she chuckled, leaving a trail of kisses along his neck and jaw until she reached her final destination.   


"A reminder. Of presence, support. And..."   


She whispered the final word on his lips, just before kissing him, the tender movement of his mouth on her the best answer she could ask for. They didn't need words, after all.

*

_ 50 days after the attack _

The sharp flashes of the paparazzi nearly blinded her, even behind her dark sunglasses, as she stepped out of the car. 

Krillin and other policemen protected her as she reached for the entrance of the courthouse, the trial of her attacker ready to start. 

She was going to face that man again, and this time she was ready. Ready to stand her ground and be the strong woman she knew she was, a new kind of confidence boosting every step towards the door of the building.

Before crossing the threshold, Bulma felt a telltale ripple on her skin. She turned, discarding the sunglasses and defying the crowd with a straight spine and her determined gaze.

There, a bit aside from the rest of the people gathered in the street, stood Vegeta.

The deafening voices and screamed questions reduced to an undefined buzz, as she met his eyes. He simply stood, watching her, his quiet presence enough to bolster her and remind her of what she had accomplished during those months. But exactly like the tournament, he was going to attend in a few days, this trial was her battle and hers alone. 

Vegeta wasn't there to fight it in her place. He was there for her.

She saw his lips move in a mute message, two words that were everything she needed.

_ Show them. _

Bulma took a deep breath and turned once more. Smiling to herself, she took one more step and moved forward.

 

*

 

As always, Rut managed to crystalize their kiss into a marvelous piece of art... <3

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Invincible (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were far more than strong.  
> Together they had become invincible.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. It's been a long and wonderful ride.  
> I can't fully express how grateful I am for crossing paths with [Rut](https://twitter.com/rutisfree), for her immense talent and support, for our texted brainstormings, for being there since the beginning, full of ideas and excitement;  
> I'll be forever in debt to my dearest betas, [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L)  
> and [1VulgarWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1VulgarWoman/pseuds/1VulgarWoman), for their invaluable help in transforming this fic in something legible.  
> And last but not least, I want to say the biggest thank you to all of you who supported this fic with all your reactions and comments, for nominating "If it doesn't kill you" and voting it at the annual Vegebul Award, for reading it and sharing your emotions and stories with us.  
> It's priceless, this kind of connection between strangers; it's beautiful, it's art at its highest peak. It's ours.
> 
> So THANK YOU, with all my heart. And enjoy this little and fluffy epilogue. Consider it an early Vegebul Christmas gift. :)  
> Have a wonderful Christmas and a happy new year my friends! <3
> 
> Come say hi on twitter, you can find me there as [@MelPearls](https://twitter.com/melpearls)

 

 

“I said no!”

“It’s just some training! I need to keep my body fit and healthy…”

Vegeta threw his arms in the air, cursing. The punching bag swayed under the force of his previous punch and almost hit him back, but he stopped it with a hand and his meanest glare.

"Fighting in your condition is the exact opposite of healthy!" He growled, turning his frown on the blue-haired woman who had been nagging him for about an hour.  

Bulma’s fists landed on her hips, her slightly rounded belly pointing accusingly at him. 

Wonderful, Vegeta thought, the brat wasn't even born yet and he was already on his mother's side.

“Oh, c’mon! Are you really afraid of a pregnant woman?” she whined.

Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, asking himself how had he gotten into this situation. Three years had passed, and the blue-haired harpy still managed to make him mad with frustration and desire at the same time. 

It baffled him how someone as brilliant as Bulma Briefs could be so dense when her health was on the line. In retrospect, he should have guessed it from the very beginning, when a still bloody girl had started to train like a maniac, catching his attention and much, much more than that later on.

A maniac that had reminded Vegeta of himself, that time, and still did. Like in that exact moment, with her absurd request to spar with him in her condition.

"I don't want to hurt you or the baby," he mumbled, trying to be the voice of reason of the couple, for once. She arched an elegant brow, reading between the lines.

It wasn't a proper lie, but he was a professional fighter. He knew how to control his own power in order to not hurt somebody, especially a pregnant woman.

But he would never admit the true reason for his reticence.

Her body was literally glowing. Pregnancy suited Bulma in a way he couldn't comprehend. Sure, her heftier breasts played a big part in his growing fascination with that damned woman, but there was something else that drove him wild every time he so much as glanced at her.

She was a delectable mix of warm, rosy skin, iron willpower, and soft curve that always managed to set his senses on fire with a placid sway of her rounded hips. The softer edge of her toned body and sharp attitude drew him in like a moth to the light. Even her scent and taste were sweeter.

Or maybe he was slowly going insane, as the little golden bands that now encircled one of his fingers and peeked from her hand wraps as well could testify.

In either case, sparring was out of the question. He didn't want to end up with a very visible hard-on in the middle of his gym - again - thank you very much.

Probably sensing another sharp refusal coming, Bulma changed tactic, her clear eyes becoming glossy as her lower lip trembled slightly. 

Vegeta looked away, sweating. He was utterly powerless in front of her tears. Please, anything but that! 

He sighed, not quite ready to declare defeat but on the verge of surrender, a balance he found himself in so often when his wife was concerned.

Anticipating her upcoming victory, Bulma giggled and got in position, her meek and whiny mask falling and revealing the fierce woman he had fallen for.

"Why can't you occupy yourself with zumba or something innocuous like that?" Vegeta grumbled, trying for a last desperate attempt before assuming his fighting stance as well.  
Bulma clicked her tongue - a habit she had picked up from him, no doubt - her lips curving in a vicious sneer he found intriguing.  
"As if I would ever _lower_ myself to that bullshit..."  
It scared and aroused him at the same time, how much she looked like him in those moments.

" _Plus,_ I need to vent some frustration, and since alcohol is not an option…" she trailed on.

Quite true, Vegeta though, even if a couple of other _options_ crossed his mind as his gaze dropped traitorously to her generous cleavage.

The flimsy piece of fabric she wore could barely be called a top. The thin straps threatened to snap under the weight of her chest, her breasts bouncing softly at every movement. It was hardly proper training attire.

A sudden punch took him by surprise and nearly hit its target, waking him up from his very inappropriate thoughts. 

“You should pay better attention,” Bulma quipped, never stopping her attack. "I’m just pregnant, not sick or incapacitated. And I still remember a few tricks." 

She threw herself at him with everything she had, even if her five-month baby bump managed to slow her movements.

Vegeta limited himself to dodging and blocking her hits, trying with all his might not to be distracted by her unusual choice of attire that literally pushed her cleavage in his face at every attack.

It was almost like she was doing it on purpose. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that she wasn't new to this kind of dirty tricks.

Planning a new strategy, Vegeta checked his surroundings out of his peripherals. The gym was empty, the last customer had left half an hour ago, and he could hear the water running in the men's locker room where Kakarot was taking one of his long showers.

Smirking to himself, Vegeta decided that this time he would turn the tables in his favour. 

He dodged one last kick, stepping out of her reach, as he lifted the tank top he wore over his head and discarded it on the floor in one swift move.

Bulma nearly stumbled, swallowing visibly.

“What are you-”

“It’s a little too hot in here, isn’t it?” he smirked, raising his guard and egging her on with a cocky flip of his hand. 

He could see Bulma’s eyes reducing to slits, but at the same time, her lips stretched into a playful grin as she dove once again headfirst into the fight. 

He let her struggle a bit more, only to enjoy the soft flush spreading on her cheeks as their sparring went on. 

But there was a tiny problem he hadn’t anticipated. He was starting to get affected too by the closeness of her sweating, supple body, the pink top she wore already balancing dangerously low on her cleavage.

When her breathing became ragged, Vegeta decided to put an end at the whole ordeal - for the sake of his and her sanity.

He blocked her next punch, pulled her to him in a grapple and hooked a leg behind hers, accompanying and slowing her fall with his arms.

As she started struggling, he pinned her down, mindful of her belly, while his hand clamped over both her wrists, keeping her arms over her head. 

Bulma tried in vain to free herself with a frustrated huff, but the excited glint in her eyes told him she had been expecting his move, maybe even eagerly.

“Who’s using dirty tricks, now?” she whispered into his ear, making his blood sing in his veins. “Let me go.”

His lips curved into a smirk as he nipped her lobe in response.

“Do you think I’m done with you?” he growled into her neck, feeling her skin ripple under his warm breath. “Do you think you can challenge me and get away so easily? How _cute_...”

His fingers skimmed the length of her arm, goosebumps rising and spreading on her pale skin, as his index traced her collarbone and hooked the already dislocated hem of her top, dragging it down. 

One rosy nipple peeked from the fabric, hardening and puckering in the cool air under his hungry gaze. He took a moment to trace the areola with his index finger, almost chuckling as Bulma shivered.

His hand continued its travel on her body, caressing her baby bump and the minuscule scar he knew so well on her abdomen, heading even lower, under the stretchy hem of her shorts and panties.

Bulma nearly jolted under his grip and groaned out loud, as he took a dive between her legs, warmth and wetness enveloping his fingers.

His mouth latched onto her neck, her pulse raging under his tongue as he tasted the salty remains of sweat on her skin. 

He could feel her pulsing, squirming, clenching around his fingers as she breathed the most enticing mewls and moans into his ear, making him several kinds of wild. 

“Say you give up,” he drawled into her cheek, teeth gently scraping her flushed skin. 

Her throaty chuckle nearly made him come right there, in his pants.

“ _Never._ ”

In those moments, with hair ruffled and chest heaving, her red lips captured between her teeth, she was her truest self, looking fierce and unbreakable. Even when he had first seen her,  beaten and hurt, or when she had been desperately clinging to him in the shower, he knew what was hidden under that thick armor of fear and rage.

It wasn’t about strength, it never had been. She never gave up. And neither did he.

Vegeta gently bit her lobe, and she sucked in a gasp as he met her challenge with a bruising kiss. 

His hand never stopped its maddening rhythm under the flimsy fabric of her shorts, her core slick and burning as his fingers danced on her nub of flesh with the same deadly efficiency he reserved for his fights in the ring. 

Bulma mewled in his mouth, shuddering violently and clawing at the mat, his hand, anything she could hold onto as she rode her orgasm and their kiss slowed its pace, turning from frenetic to languid, almost fumbling.

Vegeta watched her as tension faded into stray spasms, and her body melted, boneless and sweaty, under his touch. He let her catch her breath and let go of her hands as he shifted uncomfortably beside her, trying to ignore how his erection brushed almost painfully on her hip. Nothing - not even his rare victories over Goku - was better than making her come apart, her defenses crumbling in the sweetest defeat.

But in this game, two could play. 

He saw the vicious glint in her eyes before the movement, his aroused body not ready to react when she pounced. 

Bulma reversed their positions, straddling him with aggressiveness and agility, despite her condition.

Vegeta let her, enjoying the view of her, disheveled and glowing, as she pinned his hands on the mat, panting and grinning.

“Time for payback, _coach_ ,” she cooed, sliding those plump legs of hers along his, taking the hem of his pants down with them. His erection hooked on the elastic band and he hissed, but her hands were fast to rectify the situation, setting him free from any restraint with a flick of her wrist.

Laughter bubbled in his throat, turning into a rumbly chuckle. She could give him all the payback she wanted if it involved her hands over him like that.  

Bulma kissed her way down his chest, his abdomen tightening under her feathery touch, as she traced his abbs and the path under his navel with her tongue. 

His chuckle turned into a groan as she reached her destination, lips running up and down his length in a slow and wet rhythm that made him want to beg for mercy.

It was Vegeta’s turn to writhe and sweat, his ruined knuckles turning white on the mat as he flung his arm over his face, biting into his skin to muffle his moans.

“Don’t,” she ordered with a wicked flick of the tongue on his head. “I want to see your face when you come.”

Vegeta felt his eyes roll back in his skull, completely helpless and aroused beyond reason. 

He would do anything, give her anything, turn the world upside down for her: the woman bearing his child, the strong-headed bitch who had managed to crawl outside of her self-made hole and drag himself out of his own with her determination, her tears, and her infectious smile. 

 _Fuck_ , he loved her. He really did.

“Bulma…” he rasped instead, jaw slack and eyes unfocused, as pleasure took over.  

But he knew that she knew, even if he didn’t often say the words out loud. She knew because they shared the same language because she had always been able to read between the lines, to decipher his silences, hell, even his most secret thoughts.

Bulma looked up, meeting his gaze as her head bobbed up and down over him, nails scraping gently the inside of his leg, and in the violent tornado that gripped him there was nothing he could hold on to except her hungry blue eyes as the tight coil in his abdomen finally snapped and he came into her mouth with a hoarse cry.

When the world stopped spinning, he felt her gentle kiss on his temple as Bulma settled beside him with a satisfied sigh, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Not exactly the kind of training I had in mind,” she chuckled after a while. “But I feel like I ran a marathon, and I need a shower. Mission complete, I guess.”

Unable to contain the spreading grin on his face, Vegeta left one last sticky kiss on her forehead as he tucked himself into his pants.

“Shower sounds good,” he added, as she sat up, stretching her arms over her with a snort.

He was about to get up as well when Bulma bent suddenly over with a sharp cry, a hand flying to her baby bump.

"Ow! You little-"

He was on her in an instant, his heart leaping in worry.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

Bulma sat back on the mat, her hands never leaving her belly, but her face was not contorted in pain anymore. The look she gave him was ecstatic. 

"I think... the baby just kicked..."

Vegeta watched her in disbelief, reaching for her belly as Bulma guided his bigger hand to the right spot. They listened in silence, holding their breaths for a minute until...

"Ouch!" 

He felt the little hit, so strong and bold, right in his gut, and it took his breath away for a whole second. 

Vegeta knew he was going to be a parent. He had wrapped his head around the foreign concept since the morning Bulma's trembling hands had shown him two blue lines on a stick. 

But this... This felt real and frightening and moving at the same time, so much that his brain couldn't seem to function properly.

He looked at her, awed and dismayed, as words and reason left him for good. 

Bulma's smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his whole damn life.

Vegeta didn't know if there was a name for the overwhelming emotion threatening to burn his whole soul, the same one he had experienced on only two other occasions: when he had first kissed her and the day Bulma had shown him the ultrasound of their baby, the crumpled piece of paper currently folded and treasured in a hidden pocket of his wallet. 

He felt his heart burst in his chest like an overripe fruit, spreading warmth through his whole being. His eyes stung, and his sight became a little blurred on the edge. 

Bulma squeezed his hand, bringing him down from the clouds of his jumbled thoughts.

"He has one hell of a left hook," she chuckled, resting her forehead on his own. "Like his father." 

Her eyes were glossy too, but her face was split in a luminous grin. He loved her so much in that exact moment, it hurt.

Vegeta pulled her into his arms almost roughly, covering her face and lips with fumbling kisses, their quiet laughter and tears mingling until they didn't know which ones were whose.

He held her there, in the same spot where three years before two hurt and beaten strangers had stood in front of each other, trying desperately to be stronger, to overcome their fears and heal their wounds.

And they did it, Vegeta realized, kissing his wife's crown with tenderness and pride. 

But they were far more than strong.

For each other, and now for the life that kicked in Bulma's belly, they had become invincible.

  
  


**The End**

 

 **One last wonderful art by Rut <3** ****

****

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
